


Sacrifices for the Greater Good

by Steph_Puppet



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, But believe me it's there, Contains some upsetting content, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, I can't tell you what the content is, Mission Fic, Tags are limited to avoid spoilers, There are so many tags I want to add, WARNING: SOME UPSETTING CONTENT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph_Puppet/pseuds/Steph_Puppet
Summary: Two and a half years after Rome, the trio are on another mission in the USA. But this mission, more than any prior, will have the most consequences.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E’ film or television series. This is a non-profit piece of work made solely for the purpose of entertainment.

_The sun had just set when the car finally arrived at the estate. It was a beautiful place, Waverly had to admit, slightly smaller than his own ancestral home but still grand and elegant. The gardens in particular were magnificent, boasting elaborately styled flower arrangements and trees planted into carefully patterned motifs. The wrought iron gate that stood imposingly in front of his car was opened by an attendant, and he carefully drove through, following the directions given to park on a near empty driveway._

_“You’re expected, Mr Waverly.” The attendant, dressed in a smart but inexpensive suit, led Waverly into the house. It was not that late in the evening but the rooms he passed through were all in the dark, the furniture all casting shadows in the dim light. He was taken up a set of stairs and eventually they stopped in front of a door, the space under it revealing that the room behind it was lit. The man opened the door for him, allowing Waverly to step through alone before shutting it quietly behind him._

_A fire was blazing in the hearth, releasing a warming heat over the entire room. The flames and a lamp were the only illuminations, but he did not have any difficulty finding the man waiting for him in an armchair. A small hand gesture invited him to sit opposite, which Waverly did, sinking into the plush cushions of the chair with a small sigh. It was so much more comfortable than his chair at the office, he had been meaning to get a replacement but couldn’t feel like he could yet justify the expense._

_“I’m dying.” The man said eventually, after a long pause of silence._

_“Oh?” Waverly said, unsurprised but sympathetic._

_“Cancer. They think I might have year to live.” He digested this new information with a short nod. The report he had been given had detailed that the man had been making preparations for his death, but did not list the cause or timeline._

_“My condolences.”_

_“I don’t need condolences, I need purpose.” Waverly’s eyebrows quirked up, perhaps the two men wanted the same thing. He had of course arrived with his own agenda, but he hadn’t realised that the other man might have one as well._

_“Is that something I might be able to help with?” He asked carefully._

_“Isn’t that why you’re here?”_

_Waverly smiled and re-evaluated his opinion of the man, he was no fool that was for certain. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, causing the other man to huff a laugh that turned into a hacking coughing fit. Waverly went to pour the man a brandy as he patiently waited for him to finish, and as he returned from the decanters he spotted the tell-tale scarlet stain on a handkerchief which was hastily tucked away. The man took the offered drink and drank a decent amount, wiping his mouth afterwards._

_“It has come to my attention that I am going to die without leaving a shred of good behind me. I have no family left, and no legacy to leave behind.” The man said. “I have wasted my life.” Waverly felt some satisfaction as he realised their interests lined up perfectly._

_“I think there is something we can do to help each other.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) To avoid giving spoilers I won’t be answering questions about the actual content of the story unless it is a clarification. 2) Chapter lengths vary massively from 1500 to 3000 words. 3) I have not used archive warnings to avoid spoiling the plot. Some uncomfortable subjects are dealt with, but non-explicitly and complying with the T rating. 4) Update schedule is Tuesdays and Fridays. I am back at uni so editing is going to take longer and there may be delays. 5) I hope everyone enjoys it, it was very fun to write and I hope it is as fun to read.


	2. Mission I

Gaby’s peaceful slumber was disturbed by a light touch tracing over her skin, from her bare shoulder to her waist. It wasn’t quite enough to wake her up, so she snuggled deeper into the covers, still dreaming fragments of nothing. A solid warm shape settled on her hip, and was shortly followed by a light tugging on her hair as it was moved out of the way. The first kiss, placed at the junction between her neck and shoulder, caused her to stir slightly, and by the time he reached the space just below her ear she was half-awake.

“Five more minutes.” She murmured sleepily, half-heartedly swatting Illya away.

“We have a mission briefing today.” He said quietly, his accent thickened from sleep. “Cowboy will be here soon.” She made a noise of complaint and wiggled around so she faced him. She took a moment to drink in his relaxed and open expression, he always looked like this in the mornings when the stress of their lives could momentarily be set aside for a brief time after waking. No masks, no lies. Just two people snatching desperately at small moments of normal domesticity.

“He can wait.” She suggested, slipping a leg over his and pressing herself closer so not a single inch separated them. He gave her a look that suggested he knew exactly what her game was, but did not resist when she lazily pressed her mouth to his. He did however catch her wrist when her hand that had been resting innocently against his chest slowly started travelling downwards.

“No, Chop Shop.” He said, ending the kiss. “Time to work.” She gave up at that, they had been together long enough for her to know that when he said that he meant it.

He rose from the bed and went to the bathroom for his morning shower, and she clutched the sheets closer to her, trying to hold on to the residual heat for as long as possible. She had forgotten to turn on the heating the previous night so the whole flat was cold, a testament to the English weather and she was loathe to leave her comfortable little cocoon. Eventually though, the heat dissipated and she got up with an unhappy groan. On her bedside table was Illya’s watch and the black pearl ring he had given her in Rome which now hung on pretty silver chain Solo had stolen for her. She slipped it over her neck as she did every morning.

Walking over to the wardrobe, Gaby flicked through the clothes, eventually throwing a dress and a suit onto the unmade bed. Right on time, she heard a faint knocking on the front door of the flat and quickly threw on a dressing gown, a pretty affair of red silk she had bought on a whim in Paris.

“I still have to shower.” She said as she opened the door, revealing a grinning Napoleon.

“Your breakfast will go cold.” He waved one of three wonderful-smelling brown paper wrapped packages. She snatched it out of his hands and immediately stuffed a still-warm pastry into her mouth.

“Any idea what the mission is going to be?” She asked around a mouth full food, eliciting a disgusted look from Napoleon.

“I have to check in with my handler, which means it is probably going to be in the US. I’m sure Peril will be thrilled.”

“I will cope.” Illya arrived at the front room, fully dressed, hands busy with his tie. With the bathroom free again, Gaby stepped out, already hearing Solo berating her Russian for his choice of suit.

* * *

A short while later, they were all bundled in Solo’s car and heading for UNCLE headquarters, located just outside the centre of the city of London. The carpooling had become a regular occurrences after Illya had started spending more and more nights at her flat instead of his own, and they had both become concerned that Waverly would notice that they always arrived at the same time and come to the correct conclusion. Napoleon had not been difficult to convince, for all his jokes and sharp comments, he could appreciate the risk they were taking by being together and had been willing to help them keep their relationship discreet.

At the meeting room in headquarters, they played cards until Waverly arrived. Gaby didn’t quite know why this was the activity they usually turned to as without fail Solo always won. Illya had caught him cheating in the past, and the American had merely shrugged and excused it as sleight of hand practice for missions.

“Hello team!” Waverly greeted them with his usual enthusiasm, accompanied by a woman carrying a small box of slides. She immediately stationed herself at the projector with her slides ready to go. Gaby was always amazed at the pinnacles of professionalism Waverly managed to find, it was particularly surprising since the man prided himself on having a small and diverse group of misfits for his top team.

“New mission from our American friends, specifically the FBI have asked for UNCLE’s help in confirming the identity of the head of a crime syndicate. This is your target, George Russell.” Waverly said. On cue, the woman pushed a slide into the projector revealing a black and white photo of two people. Father and daughter, from the looks of things. Despite the photo only showing heads and shoulders of the people in it, the father still managed to look huge and dominated the frame. The daughter, roughly around Gaby’s age if slightly younger, barely took up any space and was surprisingly plain considering how attention-grabbing her father was.

“ _That’s_ the head of a crime organisation?” Solo asked sceptically, she couldn’t help but agree with the American’s assessment. While most criminals didn’t look like criminals, there was a certain degree of joviality to the man in the photo that seemed to defy the label.

“The FBI believe so. The organisation the target is suspected of running has ties to arms dealing, drugs and sex trafficking. The group has a rather interesting hierarchy system, there are several ‘managers’ that each control a portion of the business and all report to the target. The target and the managers are all considered equal partners, but the managers do not actually know each other. From what we understand, this is a system put into place by the target to prevent one of the managers being able to report to law enforcement the identity of the others.”

“How does the FBI know all this?” Gaby asked.

“Because one of the managers _did_ turn informant.” The slide changed to reveal a different man, also heavyset. “This is Hector Smith, as you might be able to guess he ran the enforcement side of the organisation. It turns out, Mr Smith was not content with his portion of the takings and had been embezzling from the accounts. When he realised he was going to be caught, he offered the FBI information in exchange for assistance in escaping to South America.”

“So he gave up the head of the group?” Napoleon guessed.

“Yes he did. But unfortunately, due to his admission of criminal activity the FBI cannot rely just on his testimony. They also cannot investigate Mr Russell, themselves because he has some friends in high places in the US government and if they start to make moves it is possible that a mole will leak enough information to render the entire operation pointless. These connections are likely why Mr Russell has evaded detection in the past and is why the FBI have asked for our help. Now, because of Mr Smith’s escape there is an empty space within the organisation which needs to be filled quickly.”

“And that’s where we come in.” Napoleon completed. “One question, they must have plenty of people lower down in the crime group, why don’t they promote one of them?”

“Luckily for us, that’s not how Mr Russell does business. There is limited promotion opportunities within the lower ranks, partly because they recruit common criminals for those positions. Everyone that worked for Mr Smith had a criminal record, but Mr Smith himself did not. By all accounts he was an upstanding citizen, well liked and wealthy, but before he joined the group he was an exceptionally unlucky gambler. From what Mr Smith has told the FBI, it appears that Mr Russell prefers his managers to be desperate for his help but still beyond suspicion.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Solo and Teller, you will go undercover as a poor married couple moving to a nearby neighbourhood. Teller, you will befriend Mr Russell’s daughter Rose, the FBI does not think she is involved in her father’s business but be careful just in case. You will introduce her to your former US army soldier husband. Hopefully, this will lead Mr Russell into taking some interest in you both and offering Solo the position. The mission will be over once Solo has gathered enough concrete information to allow the FBI to convict Mr Russell. Kuryakin, you will be working surveillance and posing as a construction manager at the company Solo will be working at, you will be the main contact point between UNCLE and Solo.”

“No disrespect, sir, but Solo does not exactly look like an enforcer.” Illya spoke up for the first time, he was usually quiet during mission briefings.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Peril?” Napoleon asked, sounding half-offended and half-amused. Had Waverly not been there, Gaby was sure he would have accused Illya of jealousy of the time he would get to spend with her.

“You are very good at a lot of undercover work, Cowboy. But you look like someone who wears a suit for a living, not someone that breaks bones. You look like CIA, if the target has any suspicions that someone informed on him, and he sees you? He will choose someone safer.”

“Kuryakin is correct, ideally he would be the one performing Solo’s job. But Russell apparently doesn’t trust foreigners, so Solo is our only option.”

“I can do an American accent.” Illya said simply, causing Napoleon to choke violently on his coffee while Gaby and Waverly looked at him in bemused disbelief. “I can!” He insisted.

“I would need more than your word for it, Kuryakin.” Waverly said.

“May I have a book?” Waverly handed an instruction manual to him, and Illya started to recite it. Somehow the walking Russian stereotype managed to deliver not just a reasonably competent performance, but a surprisingly convincing one. “It is a little rusty.” He admits in his own voice again, missing their collective slack-jawed expressions. “But after a few days practice, it should be perfect.” Napoleon was the first to recover.

“While that was very impressive, being able to speak like an American may not be enough. You would need to have some idea of the culture in order to be able to carry a casual conversation with the target.”

“I spent a year in Los Angeles, not too long before Rome mission.” Napoleon looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and outrage.

“What were you doing in Los Angeles for a year?” He demanded, but the giant only shrugged.

“Classified.” Sensing that an argument was going to erupt, Waverly hastily intervened.

“I feel more confident about putting you in the main role, Kuryakin, but I would like you and Solo to work together for a few days before we fly you all out to the US. If Solo has any doubts about your performance, we put him in instead.” This seemed to appease them both.

“Do I need to pretend to be American?” Gaby asked, the sudden importance placed on apparent nationality was making her question her own ability to perform in this elaborate plot.

“No, Teller. Russell’s distrust of non-Americans does not extend to women, his wife was Italian.”

This did not make sense to Gaby, she wondered if Waverly was trying to delicately tell her that their mark was a sexist who didn’t think women had enough brains to follow or disrupt his business. Seeing that there was no further questions, Waverly rounded off the briefing.

“I’ll have folders with your cover stories and further instructions sent to your homes. Solo and Kuryakin, I’ll send each of you one copy of each the surveillance and undercover role folders. Kuryakin, do you have any other hidden talents I should be aware of?” The agent gave him a small smile.

“If it becomes relevant, I will let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of proper content, yay! And we have the beginnings of the mission.


	3. Mission II

When Gaby had first met Illya in Rome, she thought he had risen to the best of the KGB by being what his first impression had suggested- a savage brute. She had believed his size, strength and brutal violent rages were the reason he was so prized. It was only after Istanbul, when his rivalry with Napoleon had calmed to a friendly contest and when his and her unresolved sexual tension was finally resolved, that she realised he was so much more than that. He was astonishingly dedicated to his job, or rather to being the best spy he could be. In Rome he had discovered that his lock-picking skills were pathetic in comparison to their light-handed friend, and so to her and Napoleon’s surprise he had swallowed his pride and asked the American to teach him.

After several hours of tutoring, Napoleon had declared him competent and the lessons had ended, but Illya was still unsatisfied. The chess board that he often turned to in his free time was set aside for two months so he could concentrate fully on improving his skills until he was faster than the average thief. He still didn’t have a patch on the American’s talent, after all you could not earn 15-20 years’ experience in such a short amount of time, but a few missions later Napoleon upgraded his praise from ‘competent’ to ‘very good’. The knowledge of this meant that Gaby at least recovered more quickly from Illya’s surprise talent. It made sense in a way, the ability to switch accent at a moment’s notice is always useful, especially in times like these. The KGB must have loved having one of their own that they could send into enemy territory without raising suspicion.

As per Waverly’s orders, Napoleon and Illya spent the next three days glued together to test the strength of Illya’s American act. To Gaby’s surprise, by the end of those three days Napoleon had been very satisfied and impressed. It wasn’t perfect, he had admitted, there were gaps in his knowledge. Illya knew shockingly little about American art or music, but these subjects were unlikely to come up and he more than made up for these downfalls in his ability to discuss politics and sports. After Illya had promised to study at every available opportunity, Waverly had finally agreed to allow the switch to take place and immediately set about arranging all their documentation for the next few months. Gaby was of course delighted, a month or two of living with Napoleon was work, enjoyable work but still work. A month of two living with Illya was practically a holiday.

They had a private flight to New York, Waverly had insisted upon it to give them privacy while they continued memorising their cover stories. Gaby idly twisted the gold ring that was now on her ring finger, she still kept the Rome engagement ring on a chain around her neck. It was one of the few sentimental pieces she owned, and as was the case with Illya’s watch, she was loathe to take it off unless absolutely necessary. If it came down to it, she could always say it was the engagement ring he had given her which was a little too bulky to wear next to the simple wedding ring. A few seats over Napoleon kept making unhappy noises as he read through his cover story, the noise trying her patience somewhat as it kept distracting her from the pleasant sensation of Illya’s thumb absently tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“What is it Napoleon?” She snapped.

“Have you seen my weekly budget for this mission?” He immediately complained, clearly having waited for permission to release a litany of reasons for his current unhappiness. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Taking a brief glance at the page he waved in her face, she inelegantly snorted.

“That’s more than we get, and don’t forget you’re meant to be a construction supervisor. No truffles in your risotto until after the mission.” She teased.

“You’re mean to be inconspicuous, Cowboy, try to remember that. No stealing.” Gaby almost jerked in surprise as Illya spoke, it was difficult getting used to his new voice, but he was determined to stick to it until the mission was over. He didn’t want to risk slipping back into the accent he was more comfortable with in case it became a habit and he accidentally blew their cover.

“No fun, either.” Napoleon said sulkily, and returned to his attention to the file. All three of them knew that no matter how vehemently he complained, he would still follow the instructions to the letter unless a change in plan was vitally necessary. There was too much at stake. Turning back to her own file, Gaby scanned the information about her relationship with ‘Charlie Jones’.

“They’ve not given us a reason you were dishonourably discharged from the army.” She noted to Illya.

“We will have to make something up, they probably want to give us some flexibility about the cover. I suggest something involving violence, would work well for a potential enforcer.” He reasoned.

“Righteous violence would be best, we don’t want the target to think you’re entirely uncontrollable.” He nodded in agreement. “I’ll give it some thought.” She added.

“Hold on.” Napoleon interrupted them as he came across another troubling paragraph. “Are we actually going to have to do construction work?”

“When we get closer to Russell and his daughter, he might send some men to check out Illya’s workplace to see if it’s legitimate. So yes.” Gaby told him.

“Don’t be so delicate, Cowboy, you won’t have to do that much anyway. It might do you some good to earn an honest living.”

Napoleon gave the Russian a dirty look, and threw aside his cover story folder to pick up his surveillance folder. Silenced reigned for an hour or so, until Napoleon leaned over to Illya with his the file opened to the floor plan of the house they were going to live in for the mission. Gaby looked it over with some interest, Waverly hadn’t given them much information on their living situation- they needed to remain mostly unfamiliar with the house until they moved in.

“I’ll put bugs in these rooms.” Napoleon indicated a few, there were a very limited number of rooms in the house and he pointed at all of them bar two. “Communal areas, in case Russell says anything incriminating or of interest. I’ll leave the bedroom and bathroom alone, _try_ to keep your private activities confined to those two rooms.”

“No promises.” Gaby said, grinning at him.

“I have a dozen or so bugs with me, you can use them.” Illya suggested. “I’ll make more during my breaks at the construction site, if I can get enough privacy.” Napoleon nodded, he had long since given up on pretending that his devices were better than the Russian’s.

“The target will probably bug us when he comes to the house.” Gaby said. “After their first visit, we should maintain our covers even when we think we are speaking privately.”

She read over her file until her head started to droop with tiredness and she struggled to stay awake. She valiantly tried to fight it until an arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her closer to her favourite person. She took the invitation and let her head drop onto his shoulders and allowed her eyelids to flutter shut.

* * *

Hours later, they arrived at the airport and were quickly ushered into a car that was driven to a safe house. Everything had already been prepared for them: identity cards, cash, keys to their new home and car, and distinctly Napoleon-unapproved clothing. The material of the dress Gaby pulled over her head wasn’t as luxurious as she was used to, her time at U.N.C.L.E. had turned her soft. It was a necessary sacrifice if they wanted to convince their target that they were a down on their luck couple that were willing to bend the rules if it meant more money. To her amusement, Napoleon looked far more disgruntled than she and was suffering Illya’s mockery as a result.

As the Russian began to explain his various devices to Napoleon, Gaby decided to take a look at the car they had been given for the mission. It was an old but reliable model, clearly meant to look second-hand. Beside it was the large van Napoleon would be using to help them move in, on it was written various bits of marketing for the construction company he and Illya would be working for during the mission. They would have neighbours at the house, and so their cover story needed to be firmly in place before they even arrived at their destination. She opened the back of it curiously, inside were various bits and pieces of furniture and several boxes. Room names were scrawled across them in black marker pen- kitchen, bedroom, clothes, etc. The history of a couple that didn’t exist all packaged away into neat little parcels.

“All ready?” Napoleon asked.

She shut the doors again, it would not be too long before she would be sorting through the items herself. He climbed into the driver’s side of the van as Illya approached her, hand outstretched for something. She looked at him slightly confused, unsure what he wanted.

“Keys, Gaby.”

She handed them over with a glower, she had forgotten that whenever they were both to be in a car Illya was to drive. Their play domestic situation was in sharp contrast to their actual relationship. Charlie Jones was the one in control, the one that made all the decisions with the full support of his loyal and doting wife, Gabriella. In reality, Illya had always been fairly content to let her take the lead, she sometimes suspected that he was so used to not being in control of his own life that once he had full control he didn’t really know what to do with it. He had been the one to start the whole affair, kissing her in Istanbul when he had absolutely no work-related excuse to do so. But she had been the one to initiate nearly everything else: dragging him to her bed the first night they had spent in London, and asking him to more or less move into her flat.

They drove for a long time, Napoleon following them in the van, the safe house had been located quite a distance away from the setting of their mission. Illya drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on her knee, his ring finger sported a gold band that matched hers. It was an oddly heart-warming sight for Gaby, they had never played husband and wife before, she had a few times with Napoleon but with Illya she had never been more than his fiancée. A wedding ring suited him. Eventually they arrived, and Gaby scrutinised the building that would be her home for the near future. It was small, smaller than she had perhaps expected. The two men started to unload the van, and she moved to help but Illya stopped her.

“Leave this to us.” He gave her a quick kiss as he passed her another set of keys. “Go in and have a look at our new house.” She nearly sighed, but she knew he was only doing this because it was part of his cover. She took the house keys and did as he suggested. It may have been small, but it was cosy- clean and sparsely furnished. It reminded her of her old flat in East Berlin. Feeling a little useless, she wandered about from room to room, trying to think of something she could do to pass the time that wouldn’t conflict with her role as a housewife. When she took a closer look at the kitchen, a suitable idea came to mind and she nearly skipped back to the living room where Illya and Napoleon were dumping boxes.

“Can I have the money?” She asked Illya, without any questions or hesitations he pulled out his wallet and handed her that week’s budget.

“Peril, that is not a wise move.” Napoleon said, giving Gaby a playful smirk.

“An even less wise move was making that comment.” She shot back.

“David,” Illya began, using Napoleon’s fake name, “please remember my name is Charlie.”

“Sorry, minor slip up. Won’t happen again.” Napoleon apologised.

“I’m going to go get groceries, I’ll cook us some dinner when I get back.” Napoleon opened his mouth, Gaby presumed to offer his services in her place, but she stopped him before he could. “You can’t come over and cook every day, _David_ , I have to manage myself. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

“I can’t promise anything, Charlie here probably has quite antiquated ideas about interior design.” Napoleon grinned, ignoring the withering gaze Illya sent in his direction. Gaby rolled her eyes and collected the car keys from her temporary husband.

She was gone perhaps an hour, and once she returned there was shockingly little progress made by the two men. She had been joking when she had told them not to kill each other, but she returned to a half-shouted half-whispered argument about where a table should be placed. It was like the Rome dress shop all over again. She had given them both a disappointed look and left them to their arguments, heading into the kitchen to attempt to cook something. Luckily Waverly had foreseen she may have had some difficulty so she had been supplied with a series of ‘idiot proof’ recipes that even she, with her utter lack of ability, couldn’t mess up.

A short while later, a reasonably competent meal was placed on the newly positioned table. It was a wonderfully domestic time, they would have about two weeks to settle into their covers before they could move forward on the mission, and because it would just be her and Illya living at the house it would feel like a very odd few weeks. Napoleon and Illya both thanked her for the meal, and after Napoleon had carefully hidden a few bugs around the house he departed, leaving the couple alone together.

“Mr Jones.” Gaby said, grinning over the table at her temporary husband.

“Mrs Jones.” He replied, looking at her warily. He knew her well enough to realise when he should be suspicious.

“It’s been a long day.” She yawned theatrically. “Shall we retire to bed? I’m sure we can think of something to do to pass the time that we can’t do down here.” She watched as he moved a fist up to his mouth to muffle a laugh, and she smiled openly already thinking of how horrified Napoleon must be at the moment. This mission might be more fun than she had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, isn’t this nice? Everyone is so happy.


	4. Mission III

The first two weeks of the mission were mind-numbingly dull. The novelty of being a housewife wore off very quickly after only a few days, and Gaby could tell that Illya felt similarly about his own job. He worked long and strenuous hours, returning each day exhausted and famished. He ate everything she made without complaint, something she gave him a decent amount of credit for since she thought it was all barely edible. Her days were different but not much better than his, she had little to do other than cook or clean, and the monotony of it all was driving her slowly insane. She couldn’t even leave the house to find something to entertain herself since the budget for the mission was really only for food expenses, and she hadn’t realised how used she had become to going out for drinks or entertainment. The only time in her days that she really enjoyed were mornings, Illya still woke up much earlier than was necessary and she began to make a conscious effort to try to get up at the same time. He was refreshed in the morning, and capable of holding a decent conversation with her, as well as having the energy for other activities she wanted to enjoy with him while they had the opportunity.

“Some progress finally.” Illya had solemnly announced, one day after returning from work. “Waverly has given you permission to make an approach. One of his mechanics will be sabotaging Rose Russell’s car tomorrow, she makes the same journey every Tuesday along some winding roads and they expect that her car will break down once she is in an isolated area. You are to drive past the area, find her and offer your help.” She almost cheered at the idea that she would finally have something useful to do.

“Is this the route she’s taking?” Gaby asked when he handed her a small map on which red marker pen had been used to trace a path. He nodded. “It’s quite out of the way, where does it lead to?”

“It eventually reconnects to some main roads which lead to the town. The road is mostly disused now, but it’s where her mother met her death in a car accident. That’s probably why she drives down it.”

“We’re still new here, it would make sense if I got lost while driving around.” She suggested as an excuse for why she too would end up down those roads.

“Good idea.” He approved, he looked so confident in her abilities that she suddenly began to doubt whether she would be able to uphold her part of the plan. Gaby had done honeypots before, those were easy enough. Flash a little cleavage or leg, giggle at the right times. It helped also that all the men she was told to bait were usual serial adulterers or notorious playboys, hardly difficult to attract. This was a different kettle of fish altogether.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She admitted. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” He asked. “You should be fine, just be nice to her. Try to find things you have in common, or shared interests. She has a nice car, you could start with that.” His calmly delivered advice did wonders to soothe her sudden burst of self-doubt.

“Have you ever had to befriend someone for a mission?” She questioned.

“Once.” His response was oddly sombre. “It is different from honeypot, with a honeypot it is easier to keep your feelings separate and focussed on the mission. When you have to get close to someone, you have to give away more of yourself. It is difficult.”

“What was your mission?” She had to admit to being very curious, he rarely talked about non-UNCLE related missions.

“There was a man, part of a group that was planning an assault on a gulag to help some political prisoners escape.” Illya told her pensively “I had to infiltrate the group, I pretended to sympathise with their cause which was not difficult since my own father is in a similar place.”

“Your father’s still alive?” Gaby was astonished. She knew that his father had been sent to a gulag, but she had thought he was long dead. He nodded absently, showing surprisingly little emotion about the fate of the man who had given him life.

“I think they are keeping him alive, so they can throw what I have become into his face. I imagine they did something similar when my mother was still living.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say, he had said it all without any emotional attachment to it, as though he was talking about someone else’s family and their problems.

“Anyway,” he returned the subject to his mission, clearly uncomfortable with discussing his father any further, “I infiltrated the group quite easily. I befriended the leader to discover the details of their plans, and delivered the information to the KGB.”

“Oh, it ended that easily?” It sounded very clean and neat, her own past missions had never been that clear cut.

“Not quite.” He said with a wince. When she continued looking at him expectantly, he eventually stopped delaying. “He was nice, but young and stupid. He liked chess. We could have been actual friends, if circumstances were different. But he figured out that I was the traitor, and he pulled a gun.” Illya hesitated a little. “I killed him.”

“He was going to shoot you, you didn’t have a choice.” His guilt was clearly written on his face and she did her best to comfort him.

“I know. I just wish I hadn’t needed to.”

* * *

The next morning, Gaby drove slowly along the route that had been marked on the map. Illya had briefed her more thoroughly after their conversation, but she still felt a niggling sense of worry that something would go wrong. Waverly had been reasonably confident that the woman wasn’t involved in her father’s business, but Illya was more sceptical. She half-thought his distrust may still be a lingering doubt left over from her betrayal of them in Rome.

When she saw the expensive red car by the side of the road she was driving on, she felt equal amounts of relief and pressure at the same time. The plan could go ahead, but now everything relied on her. She knew Waverly had probably told Napoleon to prepare for a honeypot with the secondary target should she fail, but she was damned if she was going to let herself be the reason for a Plan B to take over. The woman, Rose Russell, was standing by the car, looking under the hood as though an answer would suddenly appear out of the smoke.

“Car trouble?” Gaby called out as she pulled her own car over to the side. Rose looked up in relief, she had been so distracted that she hadn’t even notice Gaby’s approach.

“Yes, I don’t know what’s wrong with it.” Her face scrunched up in confusion. “It was fine yesterday.”

“Sometimes faults can build up over time, I am-” Gaby paused to correct herself wrily, “I _used_ to be a car mechanic. I could look at it if you would like?” The woman’s face brightened considerably at the offer of help.

“Yes please, that is very kind of you.” She moved away to allow Gaby access to the car’s guts. After about ten minutes of examination, she identified the problem and barely stopped herself from letting out a low whistle of admiration. Whoever had sabotaged the car had done a brilliant job, better than perhaps even she could have done. It was a subtle thing, and something that could easily have occurred with this make and model of car.

“Unfortunately the damage isn’t simple enough for me to fix it here,” she told Rose as she shut the hood, “your garage will need to order in a new part. If you would like I can drive you home, or to wherever it was you were going?”

“That’s very generous, but are you not going somewhere?” Rose said, eyes drifting from her expensive and luxurious vehicle to the old and scratched but functional car behind it.

“No, I was just driving for the sake of driving. I’ve been stuck in the house all day for the past week, I wanted to escape for a couple of hours.” Gaby managed to end the lie with a friendly smile, which the girl returned without hesitation, her own beam by far outshining Gaby’s more subdued expression.

“My name is Rose.” She introduced herself brightly as she climbed into the car.

“Gabriella.” She responded. “Gaby for short. Where would you like to go?”

“Could you take me home please?” Rose listed off a few locations which Gaby was vaguely familiar with. She turned the car around to face the direction they had both come from.

“I’ve only just moved here, you will have to direct me.”

“That’s fine. Where did you move from?” Rose asked.

“West Germany.” Gaby said, thinking back to the file she had studied on the plane. “My husband is American, he was stationed there.” When delivering a cover story, there was always the impulse to start giving away too much information too quickly, and it was this impulse that Gaby clamped down on.

“Is your husband the reason you’re no longer a mechanic?” There was pity in Rose’s eyes that Gaby tried not to react to.

“Yes, he is very traditional.” She almost left it there until she remembered Illya’s advice that she should stick to the truth and be open where possible. “He’s lucky I love him so much, I wouldn’t have quit my job for anyone else.” In her little fantasies of a happily ever after for them, she would like to think that she would give up a career for him, but she would also like to think that he wouldn’t ever ask her to. “Are you married?”

“No. Never met the right guy.” Rose didn’t elaborate further, and Gaby thought that there might be a little more to her story but knew that they were nowhere near the right stage in their friendship to pry further. Silence reigned for quite a long time, and as time passed the MI6 agent started to panic. By the end of this drive, she needed to secure at the very least a phone number, and preferably an invitation to meet again. Since it seemed unlikely Rose was going to start another conversation, she decided to change tactic slightly.

“I have to say, I’m quite glad I met you.” Gaby admitted. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a conversation with someone who isn’t a big burly construction worker.” Rose took the bait.

“You don’t have any friends?” She asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“I left them all behind in West Germany. I haven’t really met anyone apart from my husband’s colleagues since we moved here.” It was a bit of a white lie, she did have friends before she had left East Berlin, but they were all men she had worked with. She hadn’t really ever had female friends, and even when she had the opportunity to branch out a little in London, she had still preferred to spend her free time with Illya and/or Napoleon.

“I don’t have any friends either. I don’t have the excuse of having moved though.” She said it so quietly that Gaby barely heard her, and she felt a sudden twinge of guilt that she would be abusing this girl’s loneliness in order to try to imprison her father. She pushed aside the unpleasant feeling and made an effort to start a conversation on the dress Rose was wearing, it was a pretty thing of purple fabric. It looked expensive, and the slightly longing lilt to Gaby’s voice as she praised it was not even faked. Illya had predicted that Rose would have a fondness for cars, but it was fashion the girl seemed to love. The car was just something she wore the dresses and outfits in while travelling around. Before too long, they arrived at the large manor house the Russells owned, Rose still speaking rapturously about Channel's new line between directions.

“Is this your house?” Gaby said in manufactured awe.

“It is.” Rose said, looking slightly put out that she had run out of time to talk. “Thank you for driving me. I’m really glad we met, Gaby.”

“Me too.” She replied with a smile. Rose gathered her coat and bag, and paused for a moment before exiting the car.

“Gaby…”

“Yes?” She could feel the anticipation build as she wondered whether the next words from the other woman’s mouth would cement her success in this first phase of the mission.

“I was wondering if you would like to meet again. I could show you around the shops, and the nice cafés. You said you haven’t been here long, I could be your guide if you wanted.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Gaby said, a genuine smile lighting up her face, Rose grinned back equally pleased.

“Why don’t you give me your phone number, and I can call you tomorrow in the evening?”

They exchanged details, and after a brief goodbye Gaby set off again. She was a little disappointed that she had not had the chance to see the primary target of the mission, but hopefully that would come up soon. She had at least planted the seed that her husband was military, if she and Rose became better friends there was a chance that she might mention the couple to her father. When she arrived back at the house, Illya was waiting for her with an expectant look in his eyes.

“Hi honey.” She said and began to strip that day’s outfit.

“Did you have a nice day?” He asked as he methodically began to check the blouse and skirt for any bugs. He had warned her that morning not to say anything out of character when she returned to the house in case Rose had bugged her.

“Yes, much better than I was expecting. I think I’ve made a new friend.” He caught her eye as he rose again from his inspection and began to carefully examine her, gently frisking her in her remaining clothes for any device attached to her person. She was once again glad that Illya had switched places with Napoleon, this whole scenario might have felt considerably more uncomfortable otherwise.

“Oh, how did that happen?”

“Her car broke down, I gave her a ride home. She seemed nice.” She closed her eyes and sighed as he carefully ran his fingers through her hair. “She’s going to call tomorrow evening, to arrange another get-together."

“All clear.” He said finally, removing his hands off her to her disappointment. “What did you think of her, honestly?”

“She seemed nice.” Gaby repeated. “A little too innocent perhaps, sheltered definitely. And lonely, she’s desperate for a friend.” She felt another twinge of guilt.

“Good, that will make this all easier. Did she mention anything about her father?” Now that they had established that she wasn’t bugged he felt comfortable speaking openly about the mission. She shook her head, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

“No, but I didn’t ask. I thought it better to use the time to establish a friendship.” She explained.

“That is fine, the important part is done. You did really well, all that worrying over nothing.” He held out her clothes to her, she took each item and dressed again.

“And now we wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mission is now underway. These short author's notes are killing me but I'm trying so hard not to let anything slip.


	5. Mission IV

The next day, Gaby stayed in the house impatiently waiting for the phone to ring. Her waiting was eventually disrupted in the early afternoon by the arrival of a man disguised as a door to door salesman who stopped by to harass her into buying furniture, he eventually left after forcing her to accept a small pile of fliers, amongst which was hidden Napoleon’s super-secret risotto recipe (omitting of course the truffles). She had been surprised to see it when it had fallen from the sheets of paper in her hands, but had quickly worked out that Napoleon was suggesting she invite Rose over for dinner one evening after their friendship had progressed slightly. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy for Illya who would be forced to eat all her failed attempts until she perfected the method of making it.

When the call did eventually happen, Illya had held her back for the first few rings, calmly cautioning her not to appear as though she had been waiting all day. She had regained her composure and answered the phone with a friendly greeting. They made idle small talk for a couple of minutes, Gaby forcing herself to relax into the conversation so it could flow more naturally.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Rose asked eagerly.

“No, did you have something in mind?”

“I need a new dress, and I would really love some advice.” A shopping trip, Gaby had been on plenty of those in the last few years and had heard both Napoleon and Illya drone on enough about clothes that it should be easy enough for her to assist her new friend.

“That sounds fun. Is your car working yet? Or would you like me to pick you up?” She heard the other girl sigh heavily over the line.

“No, it hasn’t even been looked at yet. My dad is being super paranoid, he doesn’t trust anyone to look at it. Could you pick me up? Do you remember the address?” Gaby said yes to both questions, and after a few polite goodbyes she hung up, and looked over triumphantly at Illya.

“I wonder what her father is so paranoid about, do you think he suspects that the informer went to the FBI?” She asked, and he shrugged noncommittally in response.

“Could be that, it might also be that he is on edge after the informer stole his money. We probably won’t find out until we are closer to the family.” He moved to pour her a glass of wine, but she quickly placed her hand over her glass, causing him to look at her with some surprise. “Not drinking? That’s unusual for you.”

“I don’t know. I’m just not feeling so great about this whole situation.” He had been sitting a few feet away during her phone call in order to avoid crowding her while she had the important conversation, but now he walked over to join her on the small couch.

“What are you worried about?” He asked, one of his hands lightly brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“It doesn’t seem right.” She confessed. “Rose is so innocent, she doesn’t have any other friends. It will crush her when she finds out I betrayed her.”

“Are you still feeling guilty about Rome?” She looked away as he mentioned the Italian city. “Gaby…” He sighed. “You need to stop blaming yourself for that, we don’t. And this isn’t the same. Rose is probably innocent, I still have my suspicions-”

“You’re paranoid.” He looked like he was going to object, but she spoke up again before he could. “Remember when you thought that waiter was following us in New York? The poor boy pissed himself you scared him so badly.”

“I am cautious.” Illya insisted. “But this is not about that. Yes, Rose may be innocent, but her father probably isn’t. If the FBI are correct, among his other crimes, he is selling women into the sex trade. Girls that are probably just as naïve as Rose, and if we have to further injure the self-esteem of one girl in order to save many, then I think the ends justify the means.” She sighed as the truth of his words sunk in.

“You’re right. I’m being stupid.” She said.

“No you’re not. You’re still new to being a spy, you haven’t learned yet that collateral damage is inevitable. Innocent people are always hurt by what we do, the important thing is we help more people than we harm.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Take Rome for example, yes you had to betray Solo and me, but in doing so you managed to find your father and helped us stop the Nazis from getting a nuclear bomb. In the end, it was worth the price paid.”

“I hope Napoleon is listening.” Gaby said with a grin. “He doesn’t give you enough credit for your intelligence.” He shook his head in disapproval.

“Cowboy is a terrible spy.”

* * *

“What do you think of this?” Rose asked, holding up a beautiful red dress up against herself. Gaby scrutinised it thoughtfully.

“The colour goes really nicely with your skin tone, but I’m not sure about the style. Maybe you should try it on?”

Gaby was amazed that her patience was holding up, they had been shopping all day and it was now approaching evening. Nothing Rose tried met her approval, which in itself would not have been so bad if she hadn’t insisted on trying on nearly every kind of dress in each shop. They were on their sixth shop now and by the bored but still attentive expression on the sales assistant’s face when they had arrived, Gaby could guess that this was a regular occurrence with Rose. She had decided earlier that day that she would do her best to be kind but honest with the girl, figuring that if anyone had tried to befriend the girl in the past based on her fortune, they would have gone with the approach of insisting that every dress she tried looked stunning on even when it clearly didn’t. Rose returned from the changing room with the dress on, and Gaby solemnly shook her head as her suspicions about the style were confirmed.

“Thank you for this.” Rose said. “You’re a lot more helpful than other people I’ve been shopping with.”

“It’s not a problem.” Gaby insisted. “I’m happy to help.” She rummaged through another dress rack until she spotted another dress in a similar colour but in a different cut. “What about this? This might suit you better.” Rose stepped over to look, lifting up her current outfit so she did not tread on the expensive fabric.

“That does look nice.” She disappeared with it back into the changing room, leaving Gaby to slump back onto the couch provided as she waited the excruciating amount of time it took for the girl to change clothes.

“Would you like to look at anything for yourself?” The assistant asked.

“No thank you.” Gaby replied with a smile.

“Are you sure? There’s a Dior in green silk that would look stunning on you.” The assistant gestured at a dress, and she felt her heart drop as she saw it. It was stunning, a few shades darker than one she had owned in Rome and tight fitting, lightly hugging the curves of the mannequin it was currently being worn by.

“My husband would have a fit if I spend that much money on a dress.” She explained honestly, the best way to get someone to stop selling you something was to tell them you couldn’t afford it, and predictably the assistant immediately backed off.

“What do you think?” Rose emerged and twirled happily.

“It looks really good, it’s the nicest thing you’ve tried on today.” She replied causing the other girl to nod profusely.

“I’ll buy it.”

“Excellent, will you be wanting anything else today?” The assistant asked, Gaby noticing that neither of them made or expected any mention of prices.

“What about you, Gaby, you haven’t looked at anything today?” Rose turned on her.

“I don’t need anything.” She protested.

“Oh come on, I feel bad. I’ve dragged you around to find something for me and not even thought about you.” She turned to the assistant. “What do you recommend for my friend?” The assistant indicated the aforementioned dress. “You have to try it, Gaby.” Rose squealed.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“No excuses! I insist.”

Without needing to be asked, the assistant returned with the dress draped over her arms, with a patience only to be found in such a seasoned professional. Gaby found herself being shoved into a room with the outfit. She considered refusing, but worried that not giving in to Rose’s demands might affect the currently smooth progression of their friendship, and so without further complaint she changed. It was even more beautiful on, and she felt a momentary pang of disappointment when she remembered their tiny budget. It was only for a moment though as she was sure Napoleon would track it down for her if she asked, her birthday was coming up and it would be a suitable gift.

“Gaby, have you died in there?” Rose asked exasperatedly, Gaby allowed herself an eye roll in the privacy of the changing room before carefully replacing her pleased but sad face and emerged from the room. “Oh wow.” Rose said wistfully. “It looks incredible. You have to get it.”

“It does look nice.” She admitted. “But we’re having some monetary difficulties at the moment, I couldn’t justify the expense.” The other girl looked slightly taken aback by this admission.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realised.” She flushed deeply. “You must have thought me so selfish.”

“Of course not.” Gaby was quick to insist. “It’s not something I advertise, there was no way you could have known.” Her private thoughts were not as kind as her words, she couldn’t help but be incredulous of the girl who loved silks and satins and couldn’t comprehend that the cheap material Gaby wore indicated a much lower standard of living.

A short while later, they were both once again dressed in their own clothes and heading away from the store, the biggest difference being the elegant shopping bag Rose now clutched in one of her hands.

“Oh shoot!” Rose said suddenly. “I forgot my gloves. Stay right there, I’ll be back in a minute.” Gaby could only watch in surprise as the girl suddenly disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later looking very pleased with herself and holding onto a second bag from the same store. It took her a few seconds to connect the dots.

“Oh you shouldn’t have.” She said as the other girl proudly handed over the bag, the movement revealing the green fabric hidden inside. “I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can.” Rose said gleefully. “It’s my present to you for putting up with me all day.” Gaby tried to think of a solution to her current dilemma, and after a few moments she came upon something ideal.

“If I accept this,” she began cautiously, “you have to let me fix your car. Free of charge.”

“That would be perfect!” Rose enthused. “I could have the car brought around to your house.”

“You’ll have to give me a few days, I need to order in the part that you need which might take a little while. I can call you when I get it.”

“Sure, but we’ll probably get together before then. There’s this amazing café I’ve been wanting to try in town…”

* * *

Back home, Gaby turned on the radio and then pulled out a chopping board in order to begin the task of cutting up the ingredients needed for the risotto. The sound of the door opening distracted her, causing her knife to slip and cut shallowly into her finger. She swore loudly in German, pleased that she didn’t have to pretend to be of another nationality on this mission.

Illya walked into the kitchen and immediately took in the scene of her trying to stem the light flow of blood. He left as quickly as he arrived, and returned with a first aid kit. Once she was cleaned up and bandaged, she gratefully accepted her hello kiss. He made a hand gesture as he began a conversation about his day, and she immediately stripped to allow him to check her for bugs again. When he had checked her, she pointed at the bag she had brought in with her and resumed her work as he examined that.

“This is nice.” He noted as he examined the dress.

“It is, Rose bought it for me. I’ve offered to fix her car in exchange.” He glanced up as she said that, and she saw his lips twist up in approval.

“That was very generous of her.” He said, and gave the ‘all clear’ sign, allowing Gaby to relax a little.

“I was thinking of asking her to come over late afternoon with the car. Once I have the new part it shouldn’t take too long to fix, and I could ask her to stay for dinner. Naturally, she would meet you if she agreed.”

“Good work.” He approved, and carefully removed the knife from her grip. “I shall do the dangerous work, you clearly cannot be trusted with sharp weaponry.” She let out a short laugh and elbowed him playfully, even as she started measuring out other ingredients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaby/Illya banter kept taking over chapters around this point :) Sorry if the story is a bit slow at this point, it really is build up right now. Sorry also about the delay, uni's been taking over. At some point in the future I might go back and give the last few chapters a proper edit.


	6. Mission V

Gaby contacted a nearby garage which would no doubt have connections in America that would supply the part she needed. The amount they wanted in exchange for performing a relatively simple administrative job was stupidly high, but luckily it was a necessary expense that was dealt with by UNCLE and therefore didn’t require her and Illya to fast for several days so they could afford it. The part was going to take a while to arrive, which at first had worried her until she realised that Rose was still too happy over their new friendship to care about how long she went without a car especially since she had Gaby to drive her around wherever she wanted.

While dealing with Rose was somewhat tiresome, she could not help but grow fond of her the more time they spent together. She was selfish in that she often thought of herself over anyone else, but she was also at least aware of it on some level and did work to correct it. Gaby still hadn’t had the opportunity to introduce her to Illya without it seeming forced, and so they were sticking with the plan of inviting her for dinner after the car was fixed. She had nearly cheered aloud when the part she needed finally became available for collection at the garage one morning and immediately rushed over in her own car to get it.

“Do you know what to do with that thing?” One of the mechanics asked sceptically as he handed it over.

“My father was a mechanic and I was an only child.” She replied acerbically. “I think I can handle a minor fix.”

As soon as she returned home, she contacted Rose on the number she had been given and was surprised at the voice that answered it.

“Hello? Who is this?” A deep male voice asked. Gaby felt a thrill as she realised that this was the first contact that had been with their actual mark for this mission.

“Hello this is Gaby, is Rose home?” She replied, doing her best impression of a woman enquiring after her friend.

“Gaby _who_?”

“Gaby Jones.” She replied slowly, sensing this might be the paranoia Rose constantly complained about. “Do I have the wrong number?”

“One minute.” The phone went silent as it was abandoned briefly, she could faintly hear two people having what sounded like a rather loud argument, but because it took place away from the mouthpiece she couldn’t make out what either person was saying. Eventually came the sound of the phone being picked up again.

“Gaby?” The voice this time was distinctly that of Rose. “Sorry about that, my dad was being stupid.”

“It’s not a problem. I just wanted to ring to let you know I’ve managed to get that part for your car. If you bring it over in the late afternoon sometime this week, I could fix it.”

“How is tomorrow for you?”

“Tomorrow is great.” She would let Illya know when he returned, and they would begin preparations for the second important meeting of the mission.

* * *

The next day, Gaby woke up bleary eyed in the early afternoon. She had spent all night on a determined quest to make a decent jug of lemonade and further establish herself as a competent housewife, only allowing herself sleep once she was sure she had perfected it. Half-asleep, Illya had wondered in the kitchen at about two o’clock in the morning to find her squeezing lemons and promptly walked out again before she could try to convince him to be her test subject. By the time he was getting up to go to work, she had just finished and fell into the still-warm bed he had just vacated.

As much as she wanted to stay in bed, she knew she had to clean the house before Rose arrived, so she threw on some worn clothes and got to work. When the last surface had been polished, Gaby had looked over at the couch with longing and sat on it with a happy sigh, but no sooner had her feet left the ground was her moment of tranquillity interrupted by the insistent sound of a car horn. The sudden noise jerked her back to reality, and she stood up again with a groan as her full weight fell back onto her aching feet.

Outside a large truck was towing the familiar red car into her driveway, and a frantic hand movement from driver’s seat indicated Rose’s presence. With a smile, Gaby waved back, even as her eyes drifted to the men driving the truck. She knew it wasn’t good to judge on appearances, Illya being a prime example of how deceptive first impressions could be, but the men looked menacing. She had no difficulty imagining them working on the wrong side of the law. She felt their eyes on her, and she remembered what Illya had said about a prominent part of alleged business and self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest. One of the men elbowed the other and whispered something that made both of them erupt in loud guffaws of laughter. She felt her eyes narrow but didn’t dare say anything, suddenly happy that Illya was still away at work, otherwise their leaving might not have been so straightforward.

“Hi!” Rose greeted cheerily, hopping out of the car. Seeing the pretty outfit the other woman was wearing made Gaby suddenly feel inadequate by comparison in her old shirt and overalls.

“Hi, do you want some lemonade?” She tried to sound inviting as much as possible, even though internally she was planning murder if her hard work never came to fruition.

“That would be great!” Gaby invited her inside and poured her a glass from the chilled jug, before heading to the basement to collect the tools that Illya had brought home a week or so ago.

Rose was content to sip at her drink and chat away as Gaby worked on the car. With each minute that passed she found herself relaxing more and more as she let the task consume her. She realised with a moment of sadness that it had been quite a while since she had worked on any vehicle, and she had missed the honesty and even to her surprise the dirtiness of it all. There was something comforting about sticking her hands into the guts of the car, and quite nostalgic as well. It conjured up memories of her foster father teaching her about the different parts of a car and what each of them do. Her good mood translated well into her conversation skills and she often heard Rose letting out high pitched peals of laughter at something she said.

“Do you want to try to turn on the engine?” Gaby suggested finally, using an old rag to wipe her hands. Rose complied and it purred back to life.

“Thank you so much!” She was nearly knocked over by the slightly taller woman’s weight suddenly slamming into her, and a little awkwardly Gaby patted the pleased girl’s back until she pulled away. She wasn’t used to such sudden displays of affection, normally it was her that attacked her friends in such a way. It felt odd to be the recipient this time.

“It’s quite late now.” Gaby noted, looking at the sky. It had taken her longer than she would have thought to fix the car, she must have been getting rusty. Illya would be getting home soon. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I’m making risotto tonight, and my recipe makes more than me and Charlie can eat.”

“I would love to. It’s no fun having dinner at home anymore, it will be nice to eat in a relaxed atmosphere.” Rose replied enthusiastically as they walked into the house together.

“You’ll also get a chance to meet my husband.” Gaby suggested. “He should be home in about half an hour.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s nice. But I should warn you he probably won’t be very talkative, he works long hours at the construction site so he’s usually tired when he gets back.” Rose frowned in confusion.

“I thought your husband was military? You said he was stationed in Germany.”

“He _was_ military.” Gaby clarified. “He isn’t anymore. He was discharged from the army before we moved here.” She paused slightly to let that information sink in before she spoke further. “It’s a delicate subject for him, it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring it up in conversation.” She hoped she had sown enough seeds that could be transferred over to her father.

“I’ll be careful not to mention it.” Rose agreed as they wandered into the kitchen. She glanced over the freshly cleaned counters which held the ingredients Gaby was going to use. “Is there anything I can do? I can’t cook but I can cut things up.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and so she decided to allow her to help.

“Do you want to dice these onions?”

* * *

They were sitting at the table, waiting for the rice to cook with a glass of wine each when the sound of the door signalled Illya’s arrival.

“Gaby?” She heard him call out.

“Kitchen.” She shouted back, and shared a conspiratorial smile with Rose. She rose to greet him as he walked into the kitchen, and they shared a brief kiss. “This is my friend, Rose, the one I was telling you about.” He summoned up his best charming smile, one she only ever saw on missions, to greet their guest. By Rose’s face Gaby guessed that it had worked as the girl turned cherry red as they shook hands.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Charlie but I’m sure my wife has already told you that.” Rose giggled and confirmed she had. While Illya continued to make conversation, Gaby took a look at the pot on the hob and after trying a small spoonful she pronounced it finished and began to serve. Rose dominated the conversation as they ate, questioning them on their backgrounds and their relationship. Illya knew his cover story well so was easily able to answer questions about his former ‘home’ on the other side of the USA.

“So how did you two meet?” Rose asked, toying with her glass.

“He rear-ended a tank.” Gaby explained with an amused look over at her partner. “I had to fix his car before his supervisor could find out. I charged him a fortune.” Rose giggled at the story, they had decided to stick to the story they had given her uncle since they were both very familiar with it.

The pleasant interlude was abruptly interrupted by a loud, relentless banging on the door. “Rosie!” A deep voice shouted, one that Gaby recognised from having spoken to briefly the previous day.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Rose said, sounding distressed. “It’s my dad. I didn’t tell him where I was going to be.”

“Is he violent?” Illya asked, rising to his full and impressive height. She didn’t get the chance to answer him as in the next moment the front door was kicked open and the man himself stormed in, reminding Gaby of the bulls they had seen in the ring in Barcelona. Illya immediately moved in front of her, pushing her behind him so he could face the threat without putting her in harm’s way.

“Dad! What are you doing?!” Rose shouted, her fury seeming puny in comparison to the much larger man. He ignored her in favour of the other display of testosterone, and marched up to Illya in order to glare up at him. The man, George if Gaby remembered correctly, was large but Illya was still taller by a few inches.

“Who the hell are you?” George demanded.

“I think a better question is who the hell are you and why do you think you have the right to break into my house?!” Illya’s hands balled into fists by his sides, and for a moment Gaby panicked that he might lose control and alienate their mark. But after a few more seconds she realised that despite his stance, his demeanour was still relatively relaxed. He was not unnaturally still, and there was no tell-tale hand shaking or finger drumming that characterised his violent episodes. The realisation hit her like a brick- he was acting. This was their first encounter with the main mark of their mission, and Illya was using the opportunity to present himself as an ideal candidate for the job vacancy George had without arising suspicion.

Before anything could become physical between the two men, Rose shoved her way between them and began to irately rant at her father for his utterly unacceptable behaviour.

“How could you?” She shouted. “I was having a wonderful evening with some friends and you’ve ruined it all!”

“But-”

“No! You cannot justify your stupidity to me, if you don’t leave right now I will never forgive you.”

Her words had a surprisingly strong effect on the man, and he seemed to deflate before their eyes. With one last suspicious look over at them he immediately left, but the lack of engine starting noises alerted Gaby that he was going to wait for Rose to join him before he left the area. With the situation effectively dealt with, Rose took a moment to regain her composure and turned to them looking extremely apologetic.

“I am so sorry about him. If I had any idea he would blow up like that I would have tried harder to keep him away.”

“No harm done.” Gaby said, trying to keep things relatively friendly even though Illya still looked murderous. “We can always buy a new door. Is your father well? That seemed like a bit of an overreaction, you’re not a child after all.”

“He’s just paranoid. He thinks everyone is out to get him.” Rose replied, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about the door, I’ll get my dad to get someone to come over and fix it for you. I’ll need to knock some sense into him first.” She looked over at Gaby with some worry badly hidden in her expression. “I hope this hasn’t affected our friendship.”

“Of course not.” Gaby was quick to reassure her. “You can’t be held accountable for your father’s actions. Isn’t that right Charlie?” She nearly elbowed him in her haste to get him to say something nice.

“That is correct, if you had tried to break down our door I think I might have been able to stop you.” His attempt at humour did the trick and made Rose’s face light up with amusement.

“I think you would have.” She said between bursts of laughter. She moved over to Gaby to hug her goodbye. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to make sure the workmen have done a decent job, then I’ll buy you lunch to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.” That settled the discussion, and after another quick squeeze Rose followed her father through the mess of a doorway he had left behind. They could hear her acidic voice even as the two cars, hers and his, started up and drove away.

Gaby left the house and looked around at the neighbourhood. She had come out of slightly morbid curiosity to see if any of the people living in the houses nearby had paid any attention to the havoc that had recently been wrecked on her home. She had to bite back a laugh as she realised that the street could have been any neighbourhood in East Berlin after an arrest- not a single curtain was drawn back and nor were any curious faces to be seen at any windows or doors. It was as if nothing had happened. With surprising good humour, Gaby kicked a small piece of wood out of her way and walked back into the house and into Illya’s waiting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Door gets broken down and it’s not even Illya’s fault, LOL. Getting into the meat of the mission now.


	7. Mission VI

“You were very intimidating.” Gaby murmured into Illya’s chest. “I think he was impressed.” She was a little surprised when he pulled her close, and leaned in as though to kiss her neck.

“Let me check they haven’t bugged us.” He whispered very quietly into her ear. “Then we can talk properly.”

She stole a quick kiss, and set about cleaning up the mess that had been left behind as he carefully checked over the house. She was washing dishes when he reappeared with a towel to start drying up the items she left on the draining board.

“Anything?” He shook his head at her question.

“All clear. Only Solo’s bugs are in the house. What did you think of the mark?” She leaned back against the counter thoughtfully, wiping her hands on a discarded piece of cloth.

“It wasn’t an ideal first meeting, but I think we did well. He seems very protective of Rose, but I think the most interesting thing was how much control she had over him.” Seeing the much smaller woman utterly command her father’s behaviour had been a surprise, Rose had always seemed far too timid to wield such power.

“I agree.” Illya replied pensively. “Do you think it’s purely because of their family relationship or do you think she knows about his activities?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her, and she thought over what she had learned about the other woman for a little while before she gave her response.

“From what she’s told me, they seem really close. Especially since her mother’s death.” Gaby had noticed Rose always spoke of her father with exasperation tinged with affection. “Anyway, tonight has given me a good excuse to pry into her family situation a little tomorrow.” She suggested. “I might offer to go meet her father to prove I’m not a psychopath and so he trusts me to be around his daughter.”

“Yes, that might work.”

“Anyway that’s for another day.” Gaby said, leaving the kitchen to look at the cavernous hole where the door used to be. “Any ideas about what we should do about that until the workmen arrive?”

* * *

True to Rose’s word, the workmen arrived a few hours later and quickly began the work of fitting in a new door. The men looked a little irked to still be working at such a late time but they were still thorough and efficient, a likely sign of having been paid well for the inconvenience.

They had both stayed up to supervise, Gaby keeping the workers well supplied with coffee, conscious that they might report back to the Russells. Once the new door had been tested, they were left alone once again and both were quick to head to bed, Gaby more so since she had barely slept the previous night. When she woke up again, the bed was cold in the absence of her personal heater, and with a sigh of regret she rose and prepared for the day ahead.

Lunch with Rose was pleasant enough, although she had to admit her favourite part was being granted the opportunity to drive the other woman’s expensive car. The offer had been made after the other woman had noticed the many longing glances Gaby send towards the vehicle and she had given a quick and enthusiastic ‘yes’ in response before promptly showing Rose exactly what her car could do when in expert hands. She half-thought that the offer was likely made out of guilt, Rose had been extremely apologetic about her father’s behaviour, often citing his recent bout of paranoia as an excuse.

“What is he so worried about?” Gaby had asked, and after a moment of consideration Rose had leaned in close as though to confide a secret.

“One of his business partners stole money from him. He’s been trying to track him down but he’s just disappeared.” It was a confirmation of what the informant had said, and it made Gaby feel more confident that the FBI had the correct man.

“How awful.” She had sympathised before Rose abruptly changed the topic of conversation to some new singer Gaby had never heard of. To her surprise, Rose declined her offer to meet her father and prove her trustworthiness, but the other woman had a strange little smile as she did so, making Gaby wonder whether or not she already had something planned.

She found out exactly why Rose had declined later that evening when there was a knocking on the new door shortly after her and Illya had eaten dinner. She had risen to answer it, but a large hand on her shoulder pushed her back into her chair and Illya instead went to the entrance. She heard him cordially- if a little coldly- greet someone and after a brief exchange she heard the door shut and the sound of two sets of footsteps heading in her direction.

“Gaby we have a guest.” Illya announced. “I’m sure you remember George Russell from yesterday’s incident.” The man had the courtesy to look slightly ashamed at the abrupt reminder.

“I do deeply apologise for my behaviour. Rose gave me the riot act when we got home and made me realise that I did overreact badly.” George said, his gaze critically taking in his surroundings. Gaby could guess that he was estimating the worth of all their furniture and finding it short of expectation.

“Rose explained you’ve been dealing with some difficulties recently.” She supplied as delicately as she could, and he nodded without surprise that she had been told such details about his current troubles.

“Yes that is true, but I should not have taken out my anger on you both.” He paused. “I am glad to see that Rosie has managed to make a friend, that poor girl has always been a bit of a loner and not by choice. You have been very good to her, indulging her shopping trips and fixing her car. I hope my actions have not affected your friendship.”

“I’m not scared off that easily.” Gaby stated, accidentally letting her gaze drift to Illya before she snapped back to attention. George nodded approvingly.

“Good.” He turned now to Illya. “I have to admit,” he said looking over the larger man’s frame, “I’m glad I didn’t try to start a fight. I thought I was a big man but you’re huge, did you play football?” Illya nodded in confirmation. “What position?”

“Linebacker.”

This answer seemed to please George as he rapidly started up a discussion about football that sounded like utter gibberish to Gaby. Illya at least seemed to understand him and replied at length on the subject. She couldn’t help but be amazed at how extensive his knowledge seemed to be, but even as she admired how much he had committed to his cover story she found her eyes glazing over as they both droned on over the subject. As she was reaching the pinnacle of boredom, the conversation was miraculously interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

“Excuse me, I was expecting a call from my boss.” Illya said and left to answer the phone. They only had one in the house and it was located in the kitchen, so his task left Gaby alone with the potential head of a crime group.

“My daughter tells me that your husband is a military man.” George noted after Illya had left the room.

“He was.” She replied.

“Ah, I see.” He didn’t sound surprised, and she wondered if her confession to Rose had been passed on. “She also said that you made some excellent lemonade yesterday.”

“I still have half a jug left, would you like some?” She picked up on the hint, and found herself questioning his motivations. It seemed strangely coincidental that he was trying to send her away at the same time as Illya was out of the room.

“I am parched.” He admitted. “A glass would be wonderful.”

Gaby gave him a quick smile and departed, joining Illya in the kitchen. Still listening to someone on the phone, Illya caught her eye and mouthed ‘Napoleon’ to her. She moved close to him, and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“I think George is bugging us.”

Illya nodded in response, not looking surprised at her assumption. With the information delivered, she returned to the task at hand and headed back into the sitting room to give George the drink. He was sitting quite innocently on the couch, and if she had been in any other profession she would have had no reason to suspect him of anything.

“Thank you.” He took the drink with a smile and sipped at it. “Very good, just as good as American lemonade.” He paused to eye her critically. “You are not American?”

“German.” She replied.

“East or West?” There was a dangerous lilt to his voice in the question.

“West.” He seemed reassured by her answer, and she wondered what his reaction would have been to the truth.

“Is that how you met your husband?”

“Yes, he was stationed there.” Illya made his return just as George began to rant about the state of affairs over the wall, Gaby making all the appropriate sounds and carefully watching Illya’s expression as George started spewing vitriol about Russia. By his deceptively calm expression, she guessed that he had prepared mentally to deal with an onslaught of uncomplimentary comments about his home and he managed not to betray how he was actually feeling.

“Ah you’re back. Good.” George said, halting his speech as he noticed Illya’s return. “Now you’re both here again, I can make my offer. I still feel terrible about what happened yesterday, and I would like to invite you both to dinner to make up for it. I will pay of course, and I will not hear anything to the contrary.”

“That is very generous.” Gaby said eventually, after the news had sunk in.

“We accept.” Illya added.

“Very good, I’ll send my driver to pick you up next week. I’m taking you somewhere high end, make sure you dress appropriately.” And with those words he left the house, allowing Illya to escort him to the door.

While the two men were gone, Gaby carefully examined the room and found a bulky device hidden behind the couch, cementing her suspicions. Illya’s bugs had improved in quality and decreased in size since Rome, this device was definitely not of his making. The fact that they had been bugged was potentially a good sign, it at least meant that George was at least taking an interest in them. It was possible that it was at the moment entirely a precaution due to her friendship with his daughter, but such an interest might eventually lead to accomplishing their objective. Still it meant that now they would have to stick fully with their covers in work and in ‘private’, and she felt a slight burst of annoyance at this realisation.

When Illya eventually re-joined her, she let a small smirk light up her face and without giving him the slightest bit of warning she jumped on him, pushing him slightly off balance. Since Rome he had become oddly used to her sudden attacks, so the blow only staggered him slightly before he straightened up and his arms moved to hold her in place. She was wrapped around him like a pretzel, her legs anchored around his hips.

“Hi.” She said with a grin. “Are you feeling particularly tired today?” If George was going to bug them and ruin what little privacy they had, she was going to make damn sure he suffered as a result. Napoleon would just have to make sure he turned off his listening devices once he realised what they were doing.

* * *

The week passed more slowly than either of them wanted. Illya was starting to get anxious to get the mission completed as quickly as possible so they could go home, and she felt the same. Playing happy families was all well and good, but the artificiality of it was getting quite grating, especially now she had to be extra careful to call him by his cover name. They were playing caricatures, and Gaby was sick of pretending to be the cloyingly nice housewife just as much as Illya hated to be an outgoing and optimistic if slightly stupid construction worker. He wanted to sit alone in a silent room playing chess, and she wanted to get drunk and fight with someone (probably him) so she could vent some steam.

Eventually the night they were due to have dinner with George Russell came around, and Gaby found herself playfully swatting Illya’s hands away as she fixed his tie. Since he didn’t bring a suit with him they had requested some extra money in order to buy him a cheap suit for the evening. Luckily, she hadn’t needed anything since she still had the pretty green dress Rose had bought for her and Illya certainly seemed to approve if his wandering hands were any indication.

“Stop it!” She laughed. “You can take it off when we get back.” The little moments of affection were also slightly tainted by the mission. It was more difficult to know if a gesture of love or lust was genuine when both parties were fully aware that somebody might be listening in to every little word. She wondered even now if they were purposely exaggerating this exchange for the benefit of the eavesdroppers. The sound of a car horn caught their attention and they both straightened up, mirth gone and the focus returned to the mission.

At dinner, Gaby was not surprised to see that George had brought his daughter along with him. Although it did irk her when she realised that the women in the party were clearly meant to discuss ‘womanly’ things while the two men talked politics. For the sake of the mission, Illya was pretending to support the same political party as the mark and thus was framing all his responses with that slant. Any time Gaby tried to join in with their talk, Rose carefully coaxed her back into a conversation about shoes or something equally inane and by the time after dinner coffees were served, she felt close to breaking point.

“I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive for this meeting.” George said, and to her surprise she saw that the permanent smile he had worn all evening had suddenly disappeared and he once again resembled the man that had broken down their door.

“And what is that?” Gaby asked, she was concerned that their cover was blown but knew that if it had he would likely have sent people to kill them rather than take them to a public area. Although, she noted looking around, the booth they were in was very isolated and several feet away from anyone else. George ignored her question, looking solely at Illya.

“I have friends high up, they managed to get your file to me. You were dishonourably discharged for violence.” Relief sets in briefly, and Gaby is quick to jump to her husband’s defence.

“He was provoked.” Again, George didn’t pay her the slightest bit of attention, and she badly wanted to hurl insults at him until he realised he couldn’t brush her off so easily. Remembering her role, she held her tongue and listened as he continued to speak.

“I don’t I want someone prone to violence spending time around my daughter.” His sensibilities were so ridiculous, when considering that he was suspected of running a criminal organisation, and Gaby felt her eyes involuntarily bulge in disbelief at his statement. Stealing a look over at Illya she saw that he was not yet prepared for a rebuttal, it had not been an assault he was expecting and it was taking some time for him to think up a solution that would frame him in a favourable light.

“Well I for one do not appreciate you making accusations and refusing to listen to an explanation.” Gaby told him coldly, doing her best to buy him some time while she too frantically tried to come up with a solution.

“Please enlighten me.” George finally turned to her. “Your husband seems to be struggling at the moment.” She caught Illya’s hand under the table and gave it a quick squeeze before turning her gaze to look George directly in the eye as she delivered her succinct explanation.

“Before we got married, one of his superiors called me a whore who was just trying to move to the USA.” She said, ignoring the gasp from Rose that her language elicited. “Charlie does not cope well with people insulting me. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Crystal.” George responded, and his entire demeanour changed from intimidating back to friendly. “That changes things, I can respect punching someone for insulting your woman.” He turned back to Illya as he spoke, sounding approving. “It seems I owe you a second apology, but I’m sure you can forgive a man just looking out for his daughter’s interests. You’ll understand better when you have children of your own, they bring with them an intense need to protect them at all costs.”

The tension across the table dissolved at George abruptly changed the topic of the conversation to how lovely both women looked that night. Gaby took the compliments with a slightly strained smile and stopped by the bar to down two vodka shots on her way to the ladies restroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about American football, I literally googled positions on the team and chose the one that sounded like it needed someone of Illya’s size and strength.


	8. Mission VII

There were no further incidents or interrogations after the dinner for over a month. Instead, Gaby found that she and Illya were slowly being drawn into a deeper relationship with the Russells. She should have been pleased, this was after all a crucial part of the mission- get close and wait for George to offer the enforcer position to Illya, but she felt uneasy. There was something about George’s newly jovial attitude that clashed horribly with the man who had broken down their door. Over the month, there were more dinners and more outings- George would take Illya to see football matches and Gaby would go shopping with Rose. It all became very tiresome, and she was at least comforted that Illya was not having a much better time than her.

“It’s not even like I can buy anything.” She had complained once when she and Illya were sat down alone at a park. They had picked their seating area carefully, staying far away from anyone else enjoying the nice day, and were mostly hidden away by a few surrounding trees. “And who in their right mind can spend that much time in a shop deliberating over which bag matches a dress better?”

“At least you have some variety.” Illya had grumbled. The comment had surprised her, until that moment she had thought he had been enjoying his outings.

“But you get to see all those big games, they seem so important to everyone. Surely that must be fun?” She attempted to reason.

“I hate team sports.” He said miserably. “It’s so pointless.” He sounded so dejected that she had felt a surge of pity for him and climbed into his lap.

“When we get home,” she told him seriously, arms wrapped around his neck, “I won’t interrupt your chess games for a week.” He let out a short laugh and kissed her.

* * *

Gaby couldn’t help but worry that everything seemed just a little too cosy for comfort, and she was getting more concerned as each day passed without any sign from George that he might trust them enough to let Illya in on his business. Luckily for her, an incident soon after reignited her belief in the mission.

She and Illya had been out for dinner, supposedly celebrating his recent raise at the construction company, but mostly just wanting to get out of the house together without their marks tagging along. The restaurant they went to was cheap and the food was pretty subpar, but Gaby couldn’t fault the vodka even as Illya turned his nose up at it. They had left the car in a nearby parking lot, but did not yet want to return to the house. Since George’s first visit several more bugs had appeared in other rooms, and even their bedroom had not been spared. He had invited himself to the house on several occasions, on the pretence of wanting to share a few beers with Illya, but each visit ended with more surveillance devices scattered around. Gaby couldn’t quite tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps he was getting close to offering the job to Illya but wanted more certainty of their trustworthiness.

They were casually walking around the town, arm in arm, in a comfortable silence. They had done enough inane talking over the course of this mission, and were unwilling to continue doing it in their actual private time. As late evening faded into night, everything grew much darker and the streets emptied. She didn’t let it worry her too much, she’d had enough training by now to be able to take care of herself even without the giant Russian by her side. She’d also had enough training to be able to spot the small group of people that had begun following them halfway through their walk, and by the sudden tenseness in Illya’s grip she was not the only one.

Illya started to take them on some winding streets in an attempt to lose their tail, but their lack of familiarity with the area eventually led them into a dead-end alleyway. As they moved to exit again their pathway was blocked by the four men, their faces now obscured with scarves which only left a small space to show their cold eyes, no doubt a ploy to hide their identities.

“Excuse me, can you let us pass?” Illya said authoritatively. To anyone else it would have sounded naïve, but Gaby knew Illya was just giving them the opportunity to give up quietly.

“Nice watch.” One of them managed to say, voice slightly muffled by the disguise. “You give it to us with your money and rings, and maybe we’ll let you pass.” Gaby moved a hand over her mouth to hide the smile that was slowly growing, hoping the gesture would look more horrified than amused. The little gang had picked the wrong people to harass and she almost felt sorry for them. The situation reminded her of the mugging back in Rome, but this time Illya was not pretending to be an architect and he had no reason to ‘take it like a pussy’.

“No.” Illya said simply. “I will give you nothing and you will get out of my way. You would be wise to do this.” One of their number stepped forwards, eyes flashing dangerously as he pulled out a switchblade which he thrust in Illya’s direction.

“Watch, money, rings. Now.” He growled.

Illya looked at the knife contemptuously and in a few short movements disarmed the man and snapped his arm like a twig. The abrupt howl of pain broke through the silence, and Illya promptly threw the now subdued man into a wall. He dropped down and did not move again, and the three remaining men watched with something akin to horror as one of their own was so easily defeated.

“Last chance. Move out of the way, or end up like your friend.” Illya’s voice had been mostly pleasant before but now it took on a dangerous lilt. It was an unsaid promise of pain and misery should they choose to ignore his final offer of mercy.

The three looked to each other for a moment, as though debating what to do. After a heartbeat they all lunged at some of the empty bottles scattered across the floor and smashed them to create weapons. The action caused a slight frown to appear on Gaby’s face, she was surprised that only one of them had thought to bring a knife, and slowly a theory started to form in her mind. Two of the men started to advance towards Illya while the third stayed a little further back, Illya rolled his shoulders back and prepared for the fight ahead, one of his hands pushing Gaby further back behind him.

The two men quickly engaged him, each attempting a stab with their improvised weapons, but Illya deftly dodged each thrust and countered with a well-placed punch or kick. Gaby meanwhile kept her eye on the third man, concerned as to whether cowardice was the only reason he was standing back. Seeing her again, the third man started to advance towards her when he realised that their main threat was currently occupied. Gaby readied herself for a defence, shifting her weight from one heel-clad foot to the other, trembling slightly in an anticipation that the man likely mistook for fear. She was careful not to call out to Illya, any distraction on his part might have opened up a weak point the sharp glass could have been plunged into.

A sudden crack caught her attention, and she watched one of the men Illya was fighting suddenly slam against the wall of the alleyway and sink to the ground, unconscious. When she looked back, the third man suddenly lunged at her, clearly intent on using her as some human shield or hostage. She easily sidestepped him and with a coiled fist punched him deeply into his side. The man gasped out in a mixture of pain, surprise and outrage, she took advantage of his surprise to sink the pointed end of one of her shoes deeply into his boot. Ever since another spy had given her the idea, she had taken up the habit of sharpening the ends of every pair of heeled shoes she owned. Normally it was a fairly useless exercise- the point would wear away as she walked and sometimes she would get stuck in muddy or grassy areas. But on occasions like these she was suddenly reminded why she had started doing it in the first place- it provided her with a wonderful concealed weapon that no one expected. Gaby stumbled as the force with which she stamped caused the heel to snap off and remain lodged in the other man’s foot, and nearly fell back as she tottered about on her uneven footing. Luckily the man she had attacked was now hopping about on his uninjured foot and shouting as he spotted the foreign object still sticking out of him. No doubt he was regretting the cheap footwear he owned, she likely would not have been able to stab him as easily if he had bought quality leather.

A smashing sound behind her revealed Illya’s other opponent to have also fallen, on the way dropping the remains of the bottle which smashed into tiny fragments across the ground. With his problems dealt with, Illya now advanced towards the remaining man who was still screaming bloody murder, and with a sharp movement also knocked him unconscious. Gaby grinned at him as she took in the carnage they had wrecked. Around them were four men slumped over, each one bloodied and bruised, with her and Illya near untouched with the exception of her footwear.

“I liked these shoes.” She complained.

“I’ll buy you some new ones.” He promised with a dark smile.

Gaby hobbled over to him, nearly falling every few feet as she struggled to adjust to her new gait. She considered taking her shoes off and walking the distance to the car barefoot, but the thought was immediately dismissed as she eyed with distaste the broken glass that now lay strewn about the floor, some of it twinkling a little in the dim light.

“Take your shoes off, I’ll carry you.” Illya offered and moved closer to her. Finding a space free of glass, Gaby stood there and carefully removed the now ruined pair, and outstretching her arms towards him she wrapped them around his neck as he slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back. “You’re getting heavy.” He complained as he carried her out of the alley. “Maybe you should cut down on your number of lunches out with Rose.” She punched him hard in the shoulder, not even eliciting a grunt of pain.

“Watch it!” She told him warningly. “Maybe you’re just losing muscle.”

He laughed at the absurd suggestion and carried her all the way to the car, ignoring the strange looks they got from the rare walker they passed.

“I don’t think the attack was random.” She told him seriously when no one was near. “No one in their right mind would try to mug someone of your size with just one knife as a weapon.”

“If they had brought a gun it would have been less suspicious.” Illya agreed. “Do you think it was a test of some kind?”

“A test of strength maybe,” she agreed, “if George is looking for an enforcer he would want to get someone who can handle their own in a fight and can show a decent amount of brutality. I think you managed to demonstrate both, I counted at least two broken bones on the three you dealt with.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have dealt with that last man.” Illya said thoughtfully. “It might be a little suspicious, you are meant to be a housewife after all.”

“Yes, but a housewife married to a military man.” She argued. “I am an immigrant to this country, it would make sense if you had taught me how to fight in case I was attacked in your absence.”

They had to stop their conversation as they neared their car. There were too many crevices and structures to check it fully for bugs so they had no idea whether it was bugged or not. Gaby made appropriate comments about the horror of what had just happened, if the attack had been planned then it was likely their conversation after it would be closely monitored. When they arrived back home, she immediately went to find the first aid kit and began to clean and bandage Illya’s bloody knuckles.

“I hope those bastards get picked up by the police.” She said darkly, aware that they were probably being listened to. “They weren’t worth the injury.”

“I would suffer far worse to keep you safe.” He told her seriously, and she felt a sudden rush of affection as she saw the honesty on his face and realised his words were not part of the act.

* * *

Rose arrived early the next day after the attempted mugging. As their friendship had grown she had taken to making unannounced visits to the house whenever she was bored, but as Gaby was not expecting her she opened the door to the insistent knocking while still wearing her pyjamas. Her appearance so late in the day caused one of Rose’s eyebrows to quirk up with an unsaid question.

“Sorry.” Gaby said around a yawn. “Didn’t get to sleep until late, too much adrenaline.”

“Adrenaline?” Rose asked in confusion as she entered the house, Gaby immediately heading into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“Yes, Charlie and I were attacked last night when we were in town.” She revealed nonchalantly, causing Rose to gasp in horror.

“Oh my god. What happened?” Her concern was obvious and fairly warming to Gaby, it was nice to have someone be worried for your safety.

“It sounds worse than it was.” Gaby said, attempting to reassure her. “Charlie dealt with it. It’s not the first time people have been stupid enough to attack us, and I think this latest group will think twice before they try to mug someone again.”

“How many were there?” Rose asked, seemingly awed by how dismissive Gaby was.

“Four.” She took a long sip from her mug and nearly sighed as she felt the caffeine start to kick in.

“Wow! And is Charlie okay?” Rose glanced around as she spoke, as though she thought he would suddenly materialise.

“He’s fine. He’s at work today.”

“So soon?” Gaby had to hold back a smile at that, the suggestion that Illya would be so traumatised by such an innocuous event rather amusing to her. She had seen him dismiss broken bones and gunshot wounds as a mere inconvenience in the past rather than something to be upset about.

“It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“What about you? Did you get hurt?” She nearly snorted at that.

“No, Charlie would never allow it. And I can handle myself as well, one of those bastards will have a scar from where I stabbed him with my shoe.” She felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction at the thought, every time the man put on a pair of socks he would remember her and his idiocy in dismissing her as his target’s wife.

“I wish I was that brave.” Rose said wistfully after Gaby elaborated about her cryptic comment, taking the opportunity to explain the story (and Illya’s part in it) in full.

“Bravery will cost you a pair of shoes.” She replied gravely. “They were my favourite pair.” Her joke caused Rose to laugh, but the sound was abruptly cut up as her eyes suddenly lit up with an idea.

“Well if you’re feeling up to it, we could go find a replacement today!” Gaby shook her head in mirth, somehow the woman always managed to turn the conversation back towards shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For part of the mugging scene I was inspired by ‘Going Postal’ by Terry Pratchett. In the book one of the characters gets harassed by a drunk and she stabs him in the foot with her “Mitzy ‘Pretty Lycretia’ four-inch heels, the most dangerous footwear in the world”. She gives an awesome speech afterwards, I really recommend looking it up or the scene of it they did in the TV film. I've also updated my drabble series if anyone is interested.


	9. Mission VIII

A few mornings after the mugging, her and Illya’s pleasant morning routine was interrupted by the arrival of George. With Gaby’s prediction that he had instigated the robbery, his visit was not totally unexpected but she faked surprise at his unannounced presence. He accepted Gaby’s offer of a coffee and sat at their dining table.

“Rosie told me about the attack.” He said, by way of explanation for his presence. “Awful business that, I figured you both deserved a break after the ordeal.”

“I have work today.” Illya pointed out.

“I know, I spoke to your boss and he isn’t expecting you. He was a little put out you didn’t tell him yourself or he would have given you a day off anyway.” He raised a hand as Illya was about to protest. “I know my interference might sting a little, but after a sudden attack a break is necessary. I’m sure a man of your height appreciates basketball, and I’ve managed to procure two tickets. And as for you,” he turned to Gaby with a smile, “Rose wants to take you to that café you like.”

“A break might do us some good.” She tried to convince Illya. “You have been tense ever since it happened.” He looked at her carefully and eventually nodded.

“That’s the spirit.” George said cheerfully. “Rosie will be waiting for you at the house.”

* * *

The café Gaby liked was really more a bakery. They served mostly European treats, many of which recalled fond memories from her childhood when she took a bite from them. She had found herself frequenting it more and more as the mission went on, and she suspected it largely was the cause for the slight weight gain Illya had noticed. She had already vowed to restrict her treats once they returned to London, but was unwilling to give up one of her few pleasures while they were still stuck here.

As she always did, she ordered a slice of Stollen. It was really more of a Christmastime treat, but it was a speciality of the bakery so they sold it all year around. She was halfway through it, half-listening to Rose droning on about something inconsequential, when a sudden and curious feeling of light-headedness overcame her. Poison was her immediate thought, and she looked in horror at what was left on her plate. She had been so stupid, a good spy never formed such regular, easy to predict habits. Rose appeared to notice Gaby’s sudden panic, and her wide eyes seemed to suggest innocence in the matter. Maybe Illya had slipped up somehow and George had sent someone to poison her food. She didn’t get the chance to think too much more on the subject as her vision suddenly went black and she felt herself fall from her chair.

When Gaby woke up again on a gurney, she sat up immediately and clutched her head as the sudden movement caused a stab of pain.

“Easy there.” She heard a female voice say, and a reassuring hand was placed on her shoulders. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I passed out.” She said, and looked up to see Rose standing over her, concern written all over her face.

“Yes, I drove you to the hospital. A doctor should be here soon.” The longer Gaby remained sitting, the better she felt, and by the time the doctor stopped by she felt nearly normal again. She wondered whether she had only been given a mild dose of poison that her body had managed to fight off, was this meant as a warning of some kind? Or a miscalculation? After all, she had only managed to eat half her treat before it had taken effect. A cold hand suddenly gripped around her heart as she remembered that Illya was with George that day, he may not have escaped so unscathed.

“Hello Mrs Jones. How are you feeling?” The doctor asked.

“Better now. I don’t know what happened.” She said truthfully.

“You appear to have fainted, from what your friend told me,” he inclined his head in Rose’s direction, “your pulse was steady and you were still breathing. Do you have any other symptoms?”

“I have a headache.” Gaby said. “And I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

“How long has this been going on?” She frowned as she tried to think about it.

“A little while, maybe a week or so.”

“I see.” The doctor made a few notes. “Would you like to speak privately, or do you mind me speaking in front of your friend.” Gaby glanced over at Rose, who smiled at her reassuringly. A gesture of trust might help in the mission a little.

“She can stay.” She said quietly. The doctor nodded and asked a few other questions, which she replied to as best as she could.

“Is there any chance you might be pregnant?” The question was so unexpected that Gaby could do little other than just stare at him in response. “Mrs Jones?” The doctor looked up from his clipboard to eye her carefully.

“I-I don’t know.” Now that the word had been said aloud, it made a frightening amount of sense. If anything her nausea worsened, almost as though her body was trying to confirm her suspicion. She and Illya were normally very careful, but when emotions ran high they became careless. Pregnancy was not an impossibility based on her recall of the past several weeks.

“I can do a blood test to confirm it, if you would like? It will be a few days before the results are available.” She nodded absently, and barely noticed as a nurse arrived and manipulated her arm in order to take a sample. What was she going to tell Illya?

“This is good news, isn’t it?” Rose asked once the health professionals had left the room, she sounded slightly confused about Gaby’s reaction.

“Of course it is.” Gaby lied. “I’m just surprised that’s all.” Doing some mental arithmetic revealed that she was likely to be around two months along, she had never been particularly regular which was likely why she hadn’t noticed earlier.

“I’m so happy for you!” Rose said cheerfully. “I bet Charlie will be over the moon.” The blood drained from Gaby’s face, she could barely process the news she doubted he would do much better.

“Rose,” she started seriously, grabbing hold of the girl’s hand in a slight gesture of desperation, “could you do me a favour?”

“Of course.” She looked a little surprised at Gaby’s expression.

“Could you please not mention this to anyone, not even to Charlie?” At this request, the woman before her nearly recoiled in astonishment.

“If that’s what you want, I’m happy to do that, but why?” Thinking quickly, Gaby came up with an excuse.

“I had a miscarriage once, it was a while ago and I never told anyone.” She lied. “I’m scared it will happen again, I would rather wait until I’m further along before I tell anyone else, just in case.”

“Oh Gaby, I’m so sorry.” Rose was the definition of sympathetic. “I won’t say anything, I promise.” Gaby allowed the hug to happen, hoping the other woman couldn’t feel her heart hammering away in her chest with panic.

She dropped Rose off at her house and returned home. She rummaged around a drawer until she found her stash of expensive tea bags, and made herself a cup. The smell as the hot water hit the bag was incredibly soothing to her frayed nerves, and she settled into the couch, sipping at the scalding liquid.

Gaby had maybe a few hours before Illya would return from his day out, and she had until then to figure out what she wanted to do. She had at least secured Rose’s silence on the matter, so it was unlikely he would find out from someone else. She found herself staring at her abdomen, wondering about the little being that was currently clinging to life there. She had never thought about children in the past, it had always been a vague possibility for some time far into a hypothetical but impossible future. She was a spy, she couldn’t have children, and she especially couldn’t have children with a KGB agent.

She couldn’t predict Illya’s reaction, from what she knew about him she suspected that he had always wanted a big family. She could easily picture him surrounded by dozens of little blond children, and her heart unwillingly tightened at the mental image. Like her, she suspected that his own desires were a fantasy destined for another life. The KGB would never let him go, and if they ever found out that he had impregnated a former East German turned MI6 agent, she didn’t even want to think about what they would do to him.

A sudden burst of rage hit her, and she threw her mug across the room until it dashed against a wall and sent its hot contents all over the wallpaper. They would not even be able to have a proper discussion about it, not when the house was under such heavy surveillance. If she told him today, it would be in the fake and detached manner of his pretend wife to her pretend husband. Regardless of how he actually felt he would have to imitate joy, and go on to suggest American names he would never give a child and talk about all the hated sports their future son would play. She did not think she could bear to listen to it, especially when she would no doubt have to agree and fake excitement rather than the dread she was actually feeling.

Gaby wanted to leave this wretched place, she wanted to return to their flat and have a proper discussion on the subject. One where they could debate the merits of various plans freely, and try to find a solution that would benefit all three of them. She wanted to abandon the mission and let the FBI do its own dirty work. She felt a pang of horror as it suddenly occurred to her how much danger she had placed herself, and unknowingly her baby in. They had been mugged only a few days ago, the broken bottle her attacker had wielded could have been shoved into her womb and she would have been none the wiser. The thought sent her running to the bathroom, and she had abruptly emptied her stomach’s contents into the toilet. Wiping her mouth, she had forced herself to calm down. The past was in the past, she had _not_ been stabbed so there was no use dwelling on ‘what if’. It was the future she had to worry about. She returned down the stairs and cleared the mess she had made, carefully picking up each broken shard and throwing them in the bin. With that task completed, she made herself another cup of tea and let its heat warm her up. By the time Illya returned, Gaby had settled on a plan and had drunk half her stash of tea.

“I have news.” He announced cheerfully as he entered the house and found her still huddled on the couch. He paused with a frown. “Are you feeling okay? You look very pale.”

“I’m fine.” She said, curious as to what he had to say. “What’s your news?”

“George has offered me a job.” She felt her heart sink. “Much better paying than the construction work, you could buy all the shoes you want.”

This was the offer they had been waiting weeks for, a sign that the mission would soon come to a close. All that needed to happen now was for Illya to wear a recording device and capture George ordering him explicitly to do something illegal and gang related. Once that final proof had been captured, the FBI would take over and they would be able to leave. They were so close now, and Gaby found herself abandoning her plan to drag Illya outside the house, tell him the news and demand they abandon the mission.

“That’s great honey.” She said, summoning as much enthusiasm as possible for the eavesdropper. “What is the work?” He sat beside her and took her hand.

“It is not strictly legal.” He admitted. “So I don’t want you to worry too much about it. The risks aren’t very high, but the rewards should be great.” He drew her close, and she moved in closer, gripping him probably more tightly than was necessary.

That night, curled up in bed together, Gaby waited until she could hear Illya’s even breathing which signalled he had fallen asleep. She let a hand drift to her stomach, and had to raise her other to her mouth to muffle the sudden sound she made. The tears came hard and fast as she realised the complicated situation she was going to be bringing a child into, there was no way this could go well. Her shoulders shook as her body was wracked with concealing her sobs, the pillow already wet with tears.

She was so consumed with her thoughts, she barely noticed the change in Illya’s breathing pattern, but she did notice when an arm snaked around her and pulled her close. He didn’t ask what she was upset about, conscious of the bug that was concealed in the bedside lamp, but let her cry silently into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many predicted that twist (I’m sure most of you realised when Gaby started reciting symptoms at the doctors), I have dropped a few small hints prior to this chapter. Stollen is awesome by the way, if your home city has a German market around December I recommend buying some.


	10. Mission IX

Over the next week or so, Illya clearly wanted to ask her about what had so upset her but unfortunately he either didn’t have the time or they were too wary of being listened to. The fact she had not volunteered the information of her own volition clearly told him that it was not mission-related and thus not something he could bring up while they were under such heavy surveillance. Despite George trusting them enough to give Illya the job they had been waiting for, he had not yet removed the bugs or told them about them, so they remained in place constantly recording every word they ever said while under that roof.

With the next stage of the mission complete, Illya remained with her during the day only to disappear at night. He had quit his job at the construction company at George’s request so he could work full time at the new job. She struggled to sleep without him, constantly worried that something would go wrong. Maybe George would search him and find the recording device attached to his person, or maybe Illya would slip up somehow and blow his cover. She was pleased each time Illya returned, but disappointed as each time he shook his head at her silent enquiry as to whether he had yet gathered enough evidence. It was only a further delay for the information she badly wanted to tell him.

Knowing the end of the mission was so close, she had been quite tempted at times to begin the process of packing anything she wanted to take with her back to London, but each time she had restrained herself. Rose still came by the house occasionally, and she didn’t want to risk the other woman reporting back to her father that his new enforcer was preparing to move away. It would be suspicious to say the least, but the feeling only added to the suffocating permanence about this uncomfortable situation they were both in every time she was forced to return her clothes back to the wardrobe.

One night, Gaby was up later than usual. It was several days since Illya had been offered the position, and she was pacing in the bedroom, wondering frantically where he was. It was the mid-hours of the morning, the time he was normally back. Logically, she knew that there was probably a perfectly reasonable, mission-related reason for his tardiness, but she was feeling particularly highly strung as a result of the mixture of powerful emotions she had been struck by ever since she had visited the hospital. By now, the results should have been available for collection but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go get a final confirmation. That confirmation would have only made her more desperate to tell Illya the truth, and if she was honest with herself she did not need it. She already had all the proof she needed that there was a tiny being growing inside of her.

A sudden knocking on the front door only exasperated her anxiety, if it had been Illya he would have just walked through. Worried that something had gone wrong she went down to answer it, only to see a man in a dark suit indicate the car behind him. She did not recognise him, and his presence could mean anything of three things- the mission was over and she was being called back, George had sent someone to collect her for some reason, or something had happened to Illya and she was being summoned to his side. Whatever it was she would likely not be getting any answers soon and she was certainly not dressed appropriately for the former two scenarios.

“I need to get dressed.” She said simply, and shut the door in the man’s face. Running up to her bedroom, she quickly dressed into something more appropriate and rushed back down. He and the car were still there when she returned, and without a word to the man she let him open her door and climbed in.

“Where are we going?” She asked when he joined her.

“Safe house.” Gaby nodded in acknowledgement, and watched the buildings go past as they drove on. Safe house could have meant anything, so she was not ready to start up a conversation and possibly give herself away. After half an hour of driving they arrived at their destination- an isolated warehouse. Once again the door was opened for her, and the man led her inside. It was well-lit inside, and she felt herself blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted. Once they did, she felt a sudden burst of joy as she immediately spotted Illya, sitting unharmed and unrestrained while speaking frankly to another man in a suit.

“Gaby!” She turned only to be caught in a hug, and when she pulled away she saw Napoleon’s grinning face. “We did it.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw her driver exit, leaving the four people alone. A sudden ‘pop’ over by Illya and the man made her jump, but she saw that it was only the man opening a bottle of champagne. “Our temporary boss from the FBI.” Napoleon told her quietly at her silent enquiry. “He’s really pleased, he’s been wanting to nail Russell for years.” They were beckoned closer and they both sat beside Illya in front of the FBI man’s desk.

“I am very impressed with your work.” The man said, conjuring up four glasses and pouring them a generous portion each. “All of you. I have to admit I was a little sceptical at first, especially when I heard about the switchover.” He gave Napoleon and Illya a hard look at that. “But I cannot fault your efficiency. You two in particular were spectacular.” He nodded at Gaby and Illya.

“Thank you sir.” They all replied in chorus, and he pushed the glasses towards them. Illya and Napoleon accepted theirs with a thanks, but Gaby pushed hers towards Napoleon who accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t drink?” The FBI agent asked with a slight frown.

“I’ve not been feeling very well.” She said, half-speaking the truth. Her morning sickness had started in earnest over the past few days. “What happens now?”

“I have sent a team to apprehend Mr and Miss Russell.”

“Both of them?” Gaby asked, not even bothering to cover up her surprise.

“Yes. Thanks to you all we have enough evidence to be able to arrest and convict Mr Russell of his illegal activity.”

“I understand that.” She stated slowly. “But why are you apprehending Rose? We’ve seen no evidence that she is involved in her father’s business.” The man clasped his hands together, looking slightly uncomfortable at the question.

“It is true that Miss Russell appears to be innocent, but we need to apprehend her anyway.” There was something unstated that Gaby was quick to grasp at.

“Are you going to use her as a bargaining tool against her father?” She asked in outrage. His moment of silence was enough of an answer to her.

“It is better for all involved if she remains in custody.” He phrased delicately, she snorted in response but he ignored her and continued to speak. “If any of her father’s business associates discover the arrest, they may attempt to capture her as a ransom chip to prevent her father from giving any of them up.” He said insistently. “Also keeping her in custody prevents her from going to seek her best friend’s advice only to discover that the best friend in question is part of the reason her father has been arrested.”

Shame lit Gaby’s face red, and she kept quiet for the rest of the uncomfortable discussion between the men. Once Illya and Napoleon had drunk their champagne, they were dismissed. Napoleon had driven over in his mission-supplied car after a call from Waverly about the ending of the mission, and so he offered to drive them both back to the house. Gaby had snatched the keys off of him with an eye roll and pronounced herself the designated driver.

The first thing Napoleon and Illya did when they arrived was scour the house for all the bugs available, mostly because Napoleon insisted that he didn’t want to keep asking Illya for bugs when he could have a readily available supply from the ones he had used during this mission. They also took the opportunity to locate and destroy all of George’s bugs. After all, he would have no further use for them in prison.

“Right well, I will head back to my own house and start packing for the journey home.” Napoleon announced once he had his small pile of devices in a bag. “Enjoy your final day here.” The exaggerated wink he gave them and the unsubtle innuendo made Gaby roll her eyes, and she lightly punched him in the shoulder as he left.

“Time to pack.” She told Illya with a smile.

* * *

They worked quickly and efficiently, packing only items that they might find useful in the future into two small suitcases. For Gaby that meant all of the clothes she had acquired, including her new green dress. She ran a hand over the fabric, feeling yet another pang of guilt, and she half considered just leaving it. She didn’t in the end, she would keep it as a reminder of the person she had to sacrifice to complete the mission.

She looked over at Illya and felt a sudden urge to tell him everything. He might have a better idea than her about what they should do. Most of all she just wanted to hear him reassure her, even if those reassurances were empty promises, it was what she needed at that time.

“Illya.” She allowed herself the luxury of his actual name, the word came surprisingly easily considering she had become so accustomed to calling him ‘Charlie’. He turned expectantly to her, dropping the shirt he was holding to hear what she had to say. It should have been easy enough to say, they were just words after all. But they caught in her throat when she first try to say them, strangling her into silence.

“What is it?” He asked, and she nearly cried when she heard him say those words in his own voice. The American accent he had been using for the whole mission finally dropped now that it was no longer needed.

“I-” She opened her mouth to say it but a sudden, insistent rapping on the door interrupted them. The confession died again in her mouth. “It’s probably Napoleon, he’ll have forgotten something.” It was typical of him, he might even have left something deliberately just so he could come back interrupt them in the middle of the sex he had insinuated they would have once the surveillance devices were gone.

Leaving Illya to finish packing, Gaby went down the stairs already preparing a snarky comment for Napoleon. Opening the door she was startled as it swung open of its own accord as soon as the chain was taken off, and she was abruptly pushed out of the way by the person entering.

“Rose?” Gaby asked in disbelief, her voice loud enough to permeate the rest of the house. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad was arrested, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happened.” The woman blathered endlessly, nearly hysterical. Over her voice Gaby could faintly hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but still Rose continued to speak. “They came to the house and they tried to take us away-”

Too overwhelmed by the shock of her presence, Gaby barely reacted at the sudden sharp noise that occurred in the background of everything else as Illya came into view. However she did notice when Illya suddenly jerked back and looked down in astonishment at the dart sticking out of his chest before promptly falling to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so originally this chapter was quite a bit longer but as I was editing it in prep for the Friday upload it got long enough to split into two chapters. And because the split point was near a cliff-hanger it kind of worked out alright.


	11. Mission X

Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as Gaby dragged her gaze from her fallen lover to look over at the suddenly silent and grinning Rose, in the woman’s grip was a small device shaped similarly to a gun but seeming to use small darts as its ammunition. An unknown liquid glimmered in one of the remaining darts. Instinct soon kicked in, and Gaby felt a voice in the back of her head telling her to disarm the woman in front of her before the weapon could be turned in her direction. But before she could do so, all the air was knocked out of her lungs as a huge weight slammed into her side and knocked her to the floor. The weight crushed her against the floorboards, and stunned for the second time in such a short while she did nothing for a moment as she tried to process what had just happened.

Her confusion only lasted a few seconds before her fight or flight reflex kicked in and she began to struggle and buck against the force, but to no effect. The object pinning to her ground did not move an inch no matter what she did. Her eyes found Illya’s face where he was laying only a few feet away from her. His eyes were closed, and if it weren’t for the regular rising and falling of his chest she might have thought he was dead.

“Get a chair, Rosie.” A rough voice near her head ordered, and Gaby realised with a start that it wasn’t only Rose that had somehow escaped police custody, it was also her father. At the moment he was occupied with stopping her from escaping his steel-like grip. She stopped fighting as she realised there was no way she was going to get George off of her, and watched as a pair of legs walked between her and Illya to the other side of the room to choose a wooden-backed chair. A large pair of hands manhandled her into the chair and held her in place while duct tape was used to pin her to the chair. Gaby could do little more than glare at him as her arms where fixed behind her back and her legs were taped to the chair.

“What did you do to my husband?” She demanded, reverting back to character in the hope that perhaps they would be able to straighten out this mess without there needing to be violence.

“There’s no need to pretend you’re together anymore sweetheart.” George said with effortless calm. “I know now that you two were plants sent by the FBI.” The words were said with such conviction that Gaby knew immediately it would be pointless to try to convince him he was wrong, and she felt her heart sink with dread as it slowly began to dawn on her the danger she was in. She remembered in the original mission briefing Waverly telling them that George had moles within the FBI, maybe someone had been able to warn him when the police were sent to arrest him.

“What did you do to my partner then?” She spat venomously, stealing concerned looks over at the individual in question. She didn’t bother correcting George about her and Illya being together, worried that such information could be used against them. Illya still hadn’t moved since the dart had struck him, whatever had been in that vial had been potent enough to take him down and she only hoped that his current state was not permanent. She didn’t think it was a poison, there was little point in using something fatal when they could have just shot him.

“Drugged him with a tranquilizer. I had one of my friends make up a concentration that would subdue a man of his size back when I was still considering him as a candidate. He’ll be luckier than you by the time I’m finished.” There was pure malice in his voice, but Gaby barely reacted at the thinly veiled threat as she turned her attention to Rose who was idly sitting on a table nearby, not seeming to have any interest in the ongoing conversation.

“Why have you got her involved? She has nothing to do with your sick business.” Gaby snapped back. “Does she know you sell women and drugs and weapons?” The question had been intended to provoke a reaction from the other woman but she did not bat an eyelash at the listing of her father’s crimes. Maybe Illya had been right- maybe she had known and condoned his actions, Gaby realised with a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had misjudged her innocence. Rose had always seemed a little self-absorbed and materialistic, maybe she didn’t care how her father acquired his wealth as long as she was given access to it for all her whims.

“I will ask the questions.” George slammed a fist into the wall beside her head, causing her to involuntarily flinch. His sudden anger almost reminded her of Illya’s rare tantrums, with the obvious difference being that Illya had never turned his anger on her. “Who do you work for?” He demanded.

“The FBI.” She lied easily, and for her efforts she was backhanded roughly across the face. She had not expected the blow and she felt her eyes water at the force he had used, her cheek stung painfully and she knew that within a few hours it would leave a purple mark. That is, if she had a few hours. The prospect seemed more and more remote as the interrogation proceeded.

“I know you don’t work for the FBI.” George said coldly, and oddly calm considering he had just assaulted her. “I have a mole there that would have told me. They only found out about the operation today when the arrest orders came in. Who do you work for?” Unknowingly he had confirmed her suspicions, but she took no satisfaction in it as she spat directly in his face.

“That’s who I work for, arsehole.” He hit her again for that comment, the blow this time hard enough to cause a few reluctant tears to escape from her eyes. She tried to blink them back even as she heard a very female laugh nearby. Raising her head, Gaby could see the slight smile on her friend’s face and the realisation that she had badly misjudged the girl only became more concrete.

“Rosie, get the things from the trunk darling. I’d rather not spend more time here than absolutely necessary.” George never took his eyes off her as he spoke kindly to his daughter. “I don’t think you realise, girl, exactly how much you’ve pissed me off. I can’t work in this country again.”

“My heart bleeds for you.” She said sarcastically.

“Oh I’m sure it will.” He laughed ominously, and watched with some amusement as Gaby strained against the restraints that held her in place to no effect. With the adrenaline wearing off, she suddenly realised with no small amount of horror that with all the bugs taken from the house, there was no way Napoleon or Waverly would know what happened to them until it was too late. She fought harder but to no avail, George’s booming laughter the soundtrack to her struggle.

“Now I do understand neither of you are the organ grinders. I’m still going to kill you both for betraying me, but,” he leaned in close, “I really want to make the people who organised this pay for what they’ve done.” She missed most of what he was saying, focussing on what Rose was doing behind him. She appeared to be rigging up explosives around the house, her fingers expertly working through the wiring. It was clearly not the first time she had handled such items, and even with Gaby’s limited knowledge of such things she realised with the sheer amount of explosive material that there would be nothing left of the house or them when the mechanism was triggered.

“You can save your breath, I won’t tell you anything. My partner won’t either when he wakes up.” Perhaps if Gaby could drag this out long enough, someone would come calling and help. It was a faint hope but hope nonetheless. She was deeply aware that she was fighting for more than just two people, and her false display of bravado was used with the intention to prolong the interrogation. The longer she held back the information the greater the chance was that someone would realise the two had not been arrested and maybe send someone to the house.

Rose reappeared before them, her expensive perfume wafting over them both and its cloying sweetness nearly made Gaby gag. She kicked Illya in the side on her way towards them, his prone body not even reacting to the blow. Gaby tried her best not to look at him, wary that they might use him to try to get the truth from her, or vice versa. The fact they had drugged him instead of killing him outright might mean that they intended to question him if they didn’t get any information from her.

“Why are you doing this Rose? I thought we were friends.” She tried to appeal to the woman, Rose looked at her with a strange look on her face and burst into girlish giggles.

“I know.” She said cheerily. “We could have been such good friends. I even started to like you more than the other wives, especially when I heard about what you did to poor Frank.” The smile on her face suddenly turned hard. “But then you had to ruin it all by selling us to the FBI.” The tone it was said in was strangely reminiscent of a spoiled child having their favourite toy taken away from them.

“What on earth do you have to gain from helping him?” Gaby pleaded. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as George left both of them to inspect his daughter’s handiwork. Maybe she could seize his momentary distraction, convince Rose to help her. The cold behaviour from the other woman could all just have been out of anger that Gaby had used her and betrayed her.

“Oh I’ve always helped him.” Rose pronounced proudly, not noticing the totally shocked expression on Gaby’s face. “I’m a division leader, after all. I deal with the whores, there’s rather a lot of money involved. The girls are all so trusting and stupid, you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to collect them.”

Gaby felt suddenly sick. She had always thought Rose to be so sweet and even with her recent behaviour taken into account she had still struggled to understand that there was something malicious about her, but now she could clearly see that her smile wasn’t just amused there was something truly deranged about it. All those secrets they had shared over the past few weeks, Rose disclosing her feelings of her mother’s death and her one serious relationship with a man that had ended awfully. None of it mattered to the girl before her, and now she considered that maybe the confessions part hadn’t even been true. It seemed difficult to think of this woman caring for other people. Gaby recoiled suddenly as one of Rose’s hands found its way to her hair, which she gently stroked as though she would do with a particularly favoured pet.

“You know, Dad has always had a thing for petite brunettes.” Rose said conversationally, in the same voice as they had discussed dresses and fashion before. “What do you think of Gaby, Dad? She’s pretty isn’t she?”

“She is.” George had returned some time while Gaby had been trying to understand her friend’s true character, it appeared that he had found a hammer in the basement and was now toying with it. He had probably found it in her toolbox, she realised with some horror. Would he turn her own devices on her? The thought filled her with fear, and not just for herself. “She might not be for much longer.” He commented.

“I’ve been trained to handle torture.” Gaby lied desperately. “It won’t work.”

“I would take the hammer if I were you.” Rose said, almost pityingly. “There is more than one kind of torture, I should know I have to find someone employ it sometimes when the girls misbehave.” Gaby’s head shot up at that as she tried to figure out the girl’s meaning. “Dad isn’t gentle, that’s why Mother left and we had to run her off the road.” She said, her sweet tone contrasting harshly with the content of her words. “I’ve always found him such pretty little things to play with, and you especially look like his type. It would not be a pleasant way for you to lose that baby.” Her smile seemed to widen as she saw fear suddenly enter Gaby’s eyes.

“She’s pregnant?” George asked, not appearing too concerned that they were currently discussing how best to extract information from her, and she doubted that such a revelation would grant her any mercy.

“Yeah I know, stupid right?” Rose replied with a laugh, before turning to look at her seriously. “You probably should have thought about that before you gave us up.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” George added, and to Gaby’s horror she noticed he had set aside the hammer and was now eyeing her up proprietarily, as though she was an object being auctioned off that he was considering bidding on. “It has been a long time, Rosie, maybe you’re right. I could do with some stress relief after the day we’ve just had.”

Gaby stole another glance at Illya’s prone body, mentally begging him to show some sign of life, but he continued to remain unmoving.

“I double checked the concentration for his weight.” George said, following her gaze. “He’s not going to be able to help you.” Briefly assessing the situation, Gaby came to a difficult decision. If she was going to die anyway, a prospect that was more likely by the minute, she thought that she would rather die quickly than endure anything from this man. She mustered up her courage, and turned defiant eyes on him, a light smile playing on her lips.

“I’m not sure I’m really your type.” She drawled bluntly to George, looking him directly in the eye. “I might look pretty, but I don’t think you’ll be interested when you find out what I am.” She could tell he wasn’t taking her seriously even as she spoke, but she was confident that the bombshell she would drop would be sufficient to change his tune.

“Like that would matter to me.”

“Oh I think it will.” She grinned viciously. “I lied about which side of the wall I was from, I’m East German.”

“That means nothing.” He still looked completely undeterred, but she wasn’t finished.

“That’s true.” She said sweetly. “But the fact that the father of my baby is a communist might not be so palatable. What can I say? The Russian accent drove me wild. Does that bother you more?” As she expected he abruptly took a few steps back in disgust. It had been a calculated risk, she had heard him rant enough about “fucking Russians” and “communist scum” in the past, and she knew that the information would either horrify him or make him more determined to hurt her in the worst possible way. As she watched his face turn purple in anger and he spluttered his way through several sentences, she knew that it was the former.

“You let that filth touch you?” He demanded angrily, and she arched an eyebrow in response, finally feeling as though she had the verbal upper hand. It was measly consolidation but she took it gratefully anyway, taking satisfaction in that she could continue to horrify and inconvenience him.

“Well obviously I let him do a lot more than just touch.” She taunted.

“She’s just trying to piss you off, Dad.” Rose cautioned him. “Don’t get carried away.” She leaned back against the table she was standing next to, a freshly poured glass of wine in her hand.

“You’re right.” George spat. “You’re too dirty for me to go near.” She almost breathed a sigh of relief as she realised that at the very least she would avoid that. “Rosie, get ready to set off the explosives.” Gaby’s smile was abruptly wiped off at that, and even Rose looked surprised at the order.

“Don’t you want to know who they work for anymore?” She asked, a trace of annoyance in her voice.

“No. We’ve spent too long here already, I just want to blow this place and these people to smithereens and be done with it.” George snapped. He made to leave her, but something in him made him hesitate and he turned back to her. For a moment Gaby’s blood ran cold as she wondered whether he had reconsidered his disgust. “Any last requests?” He asked tauntingly.

She wasn’t sure how genuine the offer was, and she found herself bowing her head, not wanting them to see the tears that were now streaming down her face. There was no avoiding it now, no more false hopes or trying to convince herself that any moment now the cavalry were going to burst through the door. This was going to be the end for her. It was difficult to accept, but something she had to do. Gaby closed her eyes and felt another stab of grief as she realised that Illya would never find out about the baby, and that she would never get the experience of being a mother. Had she the luxury of it she might have dwelled on the point for longer, but she forced herself to put it out of her mind. Raising her head again, she found herself nodding at the question and hoping that they would grant her this last small mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …


	12. Grief I

In his mission-assigned flat, Napoleon sorted his way through his clothes, occasionally tossing the odd garment into the open suitcase. He grinned as he came across a red pair of panties and allowed himself a moment to indulge in some very pleasant memories before he added them to the ‘throw away’ pile. He may have had to curtail on his habits during the past several weeks but he had still managed to have some fun even while pretending to a construction worker rather than his more lavish fake professions. It was a testament to his somewhat snobbish views on clothing that the ‘throw away’ pile was much larger than the ‘keep’ pile. The ‘keep’ pile only contained the garments that he disliked but knew might eventually be useful if he ever had to keep a low profile, unfortunately the Armani he favoured was not exactly low-key.

He continued his work, already making plans for what he would do once he returned. It had been far too long since he had done anything even remotely fun, he would have to look up what was on at that theatres when he got back. His musings were interrupted by the insistent noise of the phone ringing. Dropping a dark coloured shirt into his suitcase he crossed the room and picked up it up, expecting to hear Waverly’s voice on the other end telling him about the return plans.

“N-Napoleon?” The distinctly feminine voice betrayed that it wasn’t his boss calling but instead was Gaby, her voice trembling with some unknown emotion. The shakiness in the way she spoke caused the habitual smile to slip from his face as he immediately went on the alert, his deeply ingrained training telling him there was something very wrong with this situation.

“Gaby, what is it?” He asked, hearing himself speak slowly and clearly as though from a great distance. His unease was confirmed as he heard the unmistakeable sound of harsh sobs on the other end of the line, the noise causing him to feel an unwelcome chill down his spine. It wasn’t Gaby, it couldn’t be her. She was never so shaken. It appeared that she was trying to say something but he couldn’t distinguish a word. “Gaby I can’t understand you, is Illya there?” The big Russian was rarely phased by anything, surely he would be able to explain what had happened. But if anything, the name made her sob harder.

“H-he’s unconscious, they drugged him with something.” It was an image Napoleon struggled to reconcile with as he felt his own panic increase. To think of Illya so easily subdued was near impossible, not the man who had managed to tear the truck off his car only a few years ago.

“Who drugged him Gaby?” He asked insistently.

“Rose and George, they managed to get out of the arrest- something to do with a mole in the FBI.” She managed to choke out the words between sobs. “The mole told them about us, they came to the house.” He felt his blood run cold at the later part of her sentence. “They’ve rigged it to explode.” She had to break off as the emotion overcame her, it took a short while for her unsaid implication to sink in and Napoleon nearly recoiled in horror from the phone as he realised what she was saying.

“Can you get out?” Even as he asked, he knew that it couldn’t be that easy or Gaby would not have bothered with a call.

“No. They’ve tied me to a chair, and there’s no time to get free.” There was a pause over the other end of the line. “Napoleon, this call was my last request.”

“No Gaby you can’t think that way!” He told her firmly, looking over at his door, torn over whether he should comfort her or do his best to get to them before their time ran out. “How much time do you have left?”

“I-I don’t know, they left as soon as they dialled the phone and put it to my ear. I don’t think we have long.” He swallowed thickly as he realised nothing could be done for Illya. Gaby could not save herself and drag his unconscious body out of the house.

“Listen to me,” as he spoke he was dimly aware that he was using the military command voice he had not been forced to use for so long, “you need to try to get out. Use your weight to try to move towards the door. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He fumbled to the side to get his car keys, intent on driving there as quickly as possible, but she almost didn’t seem to hear him.

“Napoleon… I want you to know how much Illya and I valued your friendship. You were a good friend, and I know he would say the same if he could. Whatever you do, don’t blame yourself for what happened. We should have been more careful.”

“Don’t talk like that! You can tell me all this when I get there.” He said desperately, but knew he was not successful when she let out another dismayed sob.

“Goodbye Napoleon.” It was a very final farewell, lacking any trace of hope but still tinged with affection.

The phone clicked off, and Napoleon stared at it in his hand in horror before he immediately bolted to the door. His neighbours looked at him oddly as he tore his way through the stairs and threw himself into his car, jamming the keys in the ignition. He nearly screamed as his nerves meant it took him precious time to successfully put the keys in and turn the engine on. He drove like a madman through the streets, not letting himself consider what he might find when he arrived.

He smelt the house before he saw it, the acrid taste of burning hit the back of his throat, making him feel physically sick as he continued to drive, his pace no less hectic. Gaby could have managed to escape, the smell could be from a bonfire or something similar occurring in the neighbourhood. When he rounded the corner he could see the house he had only been at earlier in the day completely engulfed in flames. The emergency services had already arrived and group of firemen were busy trying to douse the fire. He slammed on the brakes as he arrived opposite the house, the tires shrieking in protest as they abruptly brought the car to a stop. The seatbelt he had hastily put on while driving held him back as he felt the force of the stop throw him forward. With numb fingers he fumbled as he unbuckled it, and nearly tripped over in his haste to exit the vehicle, already running towards the source of the heat. Two firemen saw his purposeful sprint, and one of them promptly tackled him to the ground, preventing him from reaching his destination.

“There’s nothing you can do.” The fireman pinning him to road told him firmly.

“My friends are in there!” Napoleon shouted. “Did a woman manage get out?” He felt his heart drop as the fireman solemnly shook his head, he dropped his own to the ground and let out a harsh sound of grief.

“Good God!” A British voice said behind him. “What the hell happened?” Napoleon raised his voice and could see a stricken expression on the normally calm and collected MI6 agent’s face.

“There appears to have been an explosion.” The fireman answered professionally. “Did you know the inhabitants?” Waverly nodded.

“A couple lived there, did they manage to get out?” He asked anxiously.

“At this point we do not know, we are trying to deal with the blaze first.” The fireman said solemnly, and addressed Napoleon next. “I know it’s difficult.” He said, his sympathy warm and genuine. “But you need to let us do our jobs, if you run in there you will only make things worse and you might injure or kill yourself.” Napoleon gave a defeated nod, and felt the weight leave his back. Waverly offered a helping hand, which he took and used to pull himself back up into a standing position.

“They might have escaped.” Waverly told him trying to reassure him, but of its own volition Napoleon’s head moved in a gesture of denial.

“Gaby called me.” He said hollowly. “The targets rigged the house to explode and incapacitated both of them. Illya was knocked out and she was tied up.” Waverly looked at him in stupefied shock.

“But the targets were arrested!” Waverly said insistently. “The FBI assured me they were sending a team.”

“She told me there was a mole, I assume the mole must have told them about the arrest warrant.” Bit by bit, Napoleon related the rest of the contents of the call to Waverly at the older man’s gentle coaxing.

“I need to make a call.” Waverly told him, his voice now very calm but icy cold.

Napoleon watched him leave, he could just about see his boss’s outline at the window of the house where he commandeered a phone. His lifestyle had given him a good understanding of body language, and he watched as the initial tenseness in Waverly’s body slowly transitioned into outright fury. The man gesticulated wildly as he spoke, removing any possible doubt about his current mood. The mood prevailed as Waverly returned to his side, and it took him some time for him to control himself enough to speak.

“I informed the FBI about the mole. They were… already aware of the situation and had in fact expected the targets to escape, they used the opportunity to find the mole in their ranks. They were not expecting them to make a side trip before their escape.” He delivered the information with barely concealed anger, Napoleon absorbed the information numbly, understanding the betrayal involved but unable to summon any emotion about it. “They did not inform me about this.” Waverly said, shaking his head in disgust. “The police are chasing after the Russells, their car was seen driving away from the scene a little while before the explosion.”

That revelation filled Napoleon with a grim satisfaction, at least they would be caught and punished for what they had done. It was the first emotion he had felt with any degree of clarity since he had risen from the road. The two men sat at the curb, watching the firemen work as the flames slowly died down from their efforts. Eventually the fire was completely doused and revealed a blackened husk that had once been a fairly pleasant house, the structure looked unsteady and prepared to collapse at any moment. One brave firefighter ventured in and disappeared from their view for a substantial period of time. He reappeared again, causing the two men to stand up anxiously, each of them wanting to know what they had found inside. The firefighter spoke to his superior, who glanced back at them both with a grim expression, something was handed over and after a short moment the superior made his way over to them.

“You knew the inhabitants?” He confirmed, his use of the past tense already returning the sick feeling to Napoleon’s stomach, preventing him from speaking.

“Yes, we are friends of the couple that live there. Did you find anything?” Waverly said.

“We found two bodies.” The firefighter told them. “I’m very sorry.” Napoleon recoiled from the news, he had still held some hope that maybe at least Gaby had made it out.

“I want to see them.” He said immediately. “I need to know it’s them.” He couldn’t and wouldn’t accept what happened until he saw it with his own eyes. The man shifted uncomfortably.

“There isn’t much left to identify.” He told them solemnly. “You wouldn’t recognise them now. We did recover some personal effects, we thought you may want to see them in order to confirm the identities of the deceased.”

“We would like to see them.” Waverly confirmed. The firefighter sat down on the curb, and with some reluctance Napoleon joined him and Waverly. The man laid out the items on the pavement before them: a burnt watch with the glass front cracked, a thin silver chain with a pearl ring as a pendant and two gold rings, one for a much larger finger than the other.

“Do you recognise these pieces?” The man asked, Waverly nodded not succeeding in conjuring words at this occasion. “We will recover the bodies once it is safe to do so.” He said more gently, aware that he was dealing with two people suffering from a sudden emotional blow.

“Thank you.” Waverly said shortly, resuming his professional demeanour. “You and your workers will need to sign non-disclosure documents and liaise with the FBI over this matter.” Napoleon almost admired his ability to put his feelings aside to focus on what was needed now- damage control. The firefighter looked surprised at the turn of conversation, but conveniently an unmarked car arrived at that point bearing professional looking men in suits.

“Ah Waverly.” Napoleon recognised the man speaking as the one he had met and shared a drink with that morning. “I do deeply apologise about this, you cannot imagine how much guilt I feel about your agents. We did manage to find the man who betrayed us.”

“Yes, thank you.” The British man snapped. “Two of my best are dead, but congratulations on catching your mole.” Napoleon found his hand moving to rest in a gesture of restraint against his companion’s shoulder.

“You’re angry.” The man said. “I understand that. We will handle the fallout.”

The two men argued some more, Napoleon leaving them to it to turn his attention to the objects still lying on the pavement. The gold rings he ignored, but he picked up the watch and necklace, feeling a large stab of grief as he did so. Both bore marks of the fire, and he was sure the tracking device in the ring was now destroyed, not that it had much use anymore with its owner lying lifeless in the shell of a house. The watch was similarly useless, the hands now motionless. He still remembered how devastated the grumpy Russian had been when it was stolen, and how overjoyed when it was returned. Illya had normally been reasonably good at hiding his feelings, but the slight shifts in his face on both occasions had been cemented in his memory and would be forever more along with that final conversation he had with Gaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … Sorry… … … … … Everyone calm? Right, so the idea of not warning you guys is to try to get you into a similar frame of mind as Napoleon for the following chapters. Many of you will probably not want to continue on (understandable), but I hope some of you will keep reading. We’re now in ‘Grief’ which is going to be the emotional impact on Napoleon, as well as him dealing with some of the consequences.


	13. Grief II

Napoleon remained a passive passenger in his life over the next few days, still struggling to process the sudden loss of his two closest friends. Waverly arranged for him to be taken to a hotel, his room was as luxurious as he would expect but he couldn’t find himself able to appreciate any of it. He found himself jumping at every sound, half-convinced one of them would walk through the door and tell him everything was fine.

The first night, he had slumped on the bed and stared at the décor blankly, his anger building by the minute. At some point, some unknown threshold had been reached and after a few minutes that he quite frankly could not remember, he found himself standing in the centre of the room, hands bleeding and the room utterly trashed. All the vases were smashed up on the floor, and the curtains were ripped, light bleeding through the ragged edges. It took a moment for him to connect the dots, and he had found himself bitterly laughing as he realised that he had thrown a very Illya-like fit. The laughter only lasted a moment before it was replaced with harsh animalistic sounds from the back of his throat, accompanied by angry salty tears.

Napoleon had always prided himself on his ability to hide his true emotions behind a mask of frivolity and light heartedness. But this latest tragedy, piled onto a small mountain of lost army friends and personal losses, had finally caused him to reach breaking point. Waverly arrived a few hours later, glancing around the wreck of the room and wisely chose not to say anything to the already volatile agent.

“What is it Waverly?” He asked tiredly.

“Alex, Napoleon. I think we know each other well enough to start using first names.” Waverly said, clearing his throat slightly. The gesture surprised the American, as far as he was aware not even Gaby had called Waverly by his first name, in fact he didn’t know anyone who called him Alex. Not even in the entirety of UNCLE agents he knew.

“Have they been caught?” He asked, it was the first thing that came to mind. He still didn’t know how involved or not Rose had been in the whole mess, but he had far less reservations about George Russell. The death penalty would be too good for him. He might even take matters into his own hands, exert his own personal brand of justice to try to sooth the burning ache. Waverly shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“No, they managed to evade the pursuing officers. The car they were using was found ditched on a side road, they are suspected of either having continued on foot or stolen a car. They are going to continue the pursuit but it seems less and less likely they will be found.” Waverly told him, his tone purely professional as he delivered the less than welcome news. Napoleon shook his head and disgust, and before he knew what he was doing he was holding onto his fist in agony, only later seeing the hole in the wall that he had punched through.

Waverly retrieved a first aid kit from the bathroom and began the work of examining the injured hand, continuing to speak calmly. “The FBI thinks they are heading to South America, somewhere without extradition where they can hide out and start again. The organisation Russell ran does seem to crumbling apart in the sudden absence of their leader, so at least something good has come about such a disaster. It barely seems worth it when you consider-” Waverly suddenly cut himself off before he could finish his own sentence, and when Napoleon raised his head to look at him he could see an expression on Waverly’s face that indicated he hadn’t intended his final sentence to be said aloud.

“When you consider _what_?” He demanded, Waverly continued to avoid meeting his gaze to his consternation.

“It is probably better you don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Excuse me?” Napoleon was baffled, he didn’t know what information had affected Waverly so much that he didn’t want to speak about it.

“You’re grieving, Napoleon. Hell I wish I didn’t know, it will only make things worse.” Waverly practically pleaded, clearly unwilling to divulge what he had learned. It sounded ominous enough, even when they had discovered they had recovered the wrong bomb in Italy the man had been surprisingly blasé about it, but now his boss of the past few years was visibly shaken.

“You can’t make that decision for me.” He told him furiously. “If it has something to do with Illya or Gaby I deserve to know. They were more my friends than yours.” The words were intended to hurt, and he saw Waverly recoil somewhat from the accusation. Napoleon regretted his words almost immediately, but did not make any apology for it, his pride still stung by the fact the older man dared to keep such information from him.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” He said insistently, and tried to prepare himself for some more bad news. A few possibilities came to mind- maybe Gaby and Illya had been tortured before their deaths, the thought made his stomach churn unpleasantly but he knew it was likely if not certain. It fell into Russell’s modus operandi.

“Gaby went to the doctor a week or so ago.” Waverly began slowly, and a frown appeared on Napoleon’s face as he tried to figure out how this could be relevant. “The FBI went to settle the bill at the hospital, I suspect as a gesture of goodwill. There were blood test results available, she had never returned to collect them.” The man before Napoleon hesitated.

“Go on, what is it?”

“It appears that Gaby was pregnant before she died.” Waverly finally revealed. The colour drained from Napoleon’s face, it was one of the few things that had not run through his mind as Waverly spoke.

“Pregnant?” He repeated in disbelief, Waverly’s confirming nod only making the blow worse. “I understand why you didn’t want to tell me now. That monster.” He whispered, one hand clenching into a fist. During the ensuing pause, a plan started to form in his mind. If the FBI could not find George Russell, he certainly would and he would make him pay for what he had done.

“Do you know if there is a father in London I need to notify?” Waverly asked delicately, Napoleon stared at him uncomprehendingly until he remembered that Waverly had no idea that two of his best agents had been living together for two years.

“The father died with the mother.” Napoleon managed to choke out, missing the further devastated expression that appeared on the other man. When he glanced up again he saw that Waverly looked horrified, possibly partly because he had never guessed about Illya and Gaby’s relationship.

“I can’t believe I never noticed.” He said. “That poor girl. She must have known that it would never work out.”

“Don’t even say it.” Napoleon replied, raising furious eyes. It was an unescapable thought, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it out loud. Everything ending so tragically at least meant that neither of them would have had to deal with the inevitable separation that would have occurred as a result of the pregnancy. Waverly cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“The funeral is set for Thursday, the remains will be buried here instead of being transported elsewhere.” Waverly announced, and Napoleon managed to cough out a laugh.

“Illya would have hated that.” The thought of the proud Russian buried on American soil was simultaneously amusing and heart-breaking, he knew Gaby would not have cared but it may have been something that would have upset Illya.

“At least they will be buried together.” Waverly responded glumly, reminding Napoleon that Illya would have endured anything if it meant staying with Gaby. The alternative would have meant the two separated forever, their relationship and the life they created unacknowledged in death.

That night he slept poorly, tossing and turning through snatches of dreams. Gaby laughing at one of his jokes while Illya looked on unimpressed but unable to conceal a small smile. The three of them playing poker in Paris, using matchsticks as chips since Illya steadfastly refused to gamble with actual money. Gaby dragging them both to exotic restaurants so she could widen her gastronomic experience, and causing Illya to suffer through sushi despite his hatred of it purely to keep her happy. When Napoleon woke up the memories were still near the front of his mind, and he was relatively calm until he remembered what had happened. They had been so vibrant and alive in his mind that for those initial few minutes he had forgotten that there would be no more outings, no more poker games, no more laughter. It had been a crushing blow, a softened echo of his initial grief and had been the first trigger of the insomnia he would have to contend with for the future.  

* * *

Napoleon and Waverly were the only ones that attended the funeral, which didn’t come as too much of a surprise. All the people they knew from UNCLE were either on missions or still in London, flying them all to the US would have been impractical and Waverly had confided in him that he was planning a remembrance event for when they returned, to give everyone else a chance to mourn. It was a kind thought but one Napoleon could not help but feel was a little useless. Gaby and Illya had not had any other real friends in UNCLE apart from himself and perhaps Waverly. Of the two Gaby had been the more outgoing and she had socialised a little more, but even then she couldn’t have counted anyone as more than an acquaintance, her time mostly split between the members and leader of their team.

The funeral thus was just as secretive as their lives had been, and for security reasons they were not even buried under their own names. It was a practical idea, Illya’s name was very clearly eastern European and with the political climate as it was there was no guarantee that his grave would not have been defaced by some overly enthusiastic patriot. The names they were buried under were Americanised and that of a married couple, a final small gesture from Waverly to acknowledge what he had so long been ignorant of.

There was no mention of the baby, and Napoleon couldn’t help but wonder whether Gaby had told anyone else about her condition. Was there anyone she could have told? He knew that the house had been totally bugged by George, normal discussions about their lives and relationship would have been impossible under those conditions. Had she even been able to speak to Illya about it? Or had she wanted to wait for a more appropriate time? He could easily picture it: her and Illya returning to London and her on her tiptoes whispering in his ear the news with a small, secret smile. He couldn’t decide which outcome- Illya knowing or not- was better, for Gaby death might have been less easy to accept with the knowledge that Illya had never known about the life he had helped create.

“Martin wanted to come.” Waverly said eventually, when the coffins disappeared from view. At Napoleon’s questioning look, he elaborated further. “The man from the FBI who was in charge of the operation, he wanted to pay his respects.”

“I hope you told him where to shove his respects.” Napoleon told him.

“I did.” Waverly agreed. “Slightly more diplomatically though.”

The earth was piled up over the coffins, eventually leaving two freshly turned over mounds where there had been holes in the ground. They had both brought flowers to lay down. Napoleon had lifted a few people’s wallets in order to be able to purchase two ludicrously priced bouquets, Waverly had given him a slightly odd look when he had seen the elaborate flower arrangements but had not said anything or even given him a look of reproach. Had the circumstances not been so dire, the old Napoleon may have sought to take advantage of the leniency he was being given.

“I want to go after the Russells.” Napoleon told him, Waverly looked at him carefully for a moment.

“I understand.” He said. “I can maybe give you a month to search, but probably not much more. I imagine things at UNCLE will face a bit of adjustment after recent events.” There was a pause. “Napoleon, if you do find them you need to realise it isn’t going to make you feel better.”

“I know.” He admitted, he had attempted revenge in the past and it had always left him feeling hollow. “But I want to at least try to give Illya and Gaby some justice.” It was the least he could do for them after he had failed them so spectacularly.

* * *

As Napoleon promised, he spent the next few weeks chasing down a cold trail down to South America. As Waverly had suggested, the duo appeared to have stolen a car to continue their journey. He had felt a surge of hope when he believed he had figured out which car they had stolen and tried his best to track it down. That lead had ended in disappointment, he did find the car but like with the previous one this too had been abandoned and with no indication of where its most recent occupants had fled to.

He had not allowed himself to lose hope, and his vigilance was rewarded when one of his contacts approached him regarding a specific type of Rolex he had put word out that he was interested about. He had seen the expensive watch on George Russell’s wrist and had considered lifting it if he got the opportunity. Knowing the man was on the run with likely limited resources, he expected that it would eventually be sold. Napoleon had plenty of contacts across the country who specialised in searching for such pieces, so when he heard about the exact model suddenly becoming available in a state near the Mexican border, he had thanked his contact and rushed to the jewellery shop it had been sold at.

He aggressively demanded the shopkeeper to tell him about the individuals that had sold it to him, and with some hindsight he realised that it might have been better if he had approached with his customary charm. As such his attempted interrogation only resulted in a shotgun being brought out by the assistant and aimed at his head until he left the premises. He only spent a week south of the border when the call from Waverly came, summoning him back to UNCLE headquarters.

“You’ve done your best.” Waverly told him sympathetically. “But you need to face the fact that you won’t find them now. What you must hope for is that they will be stupid enough to try to set up another criminal organisation and draw attention to where they are hiding. I will keep a look out, and I swear I will tell you if I hear even the slightest hint of Russell getting back to his old tricks.” He paused to let his logic sink in. “Come back to London, I have some work for you to do. Not UNCLE work but something you may appreciate.”

Napoleon almost defied the order, but knew that too much time had passed for him to have any hope of finding the Russells. He couldn’t help but feel that had he started his search earlier, near immediately after learning the news about Illya and Gaby, he might have had a better chance at finding them. But the trail had gone cold and by now they could have acquired false documents and flown somewhere else. They could be anywhere and even with a lifetime of searching there was little chance he would ever find them. Waverly was right, the best thing he could do right now was bide his time and wait for more information. So with a heavy heart he went to the nearest airport and bought himself a single ticket to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick message: thanks for everyone who has decided to stick around with the story! I hope the angst train is worth it.


	14. Grief III

When Napoleon arrived at UNCLE headquarters, he found that he suddenly had a better understanding of why Waverly had given him such limited time to track down the Russells. Everything at the headquarters was being packed away or destroyed, the newly-arrived small furnaces quickly incinerating all the delicate information they had collected over their time at the agency. Years of work reduced to nothing more than ash and smoke.

The other agents he had become so familiar with all walked around with similarly grim expressions, nodding respectfully at him when they saw him walk past. Many agents had, if not enjoyed, at least preferred working for the international agency. There had been a pleasant comradery as the organisation had grown with time, and the atmosphere involved far less suspicion and tension than that of each of their respective agencies. Napoleon would not be the only one to miss UNCLE, he was all too aware of what awaited him back at the CIA- another few years of being at their beck and call like the lapdog they had reduced him to.

Making his way around the familiar corridors, he entered Waverly’s office without bothering to knock and found his boss in the middle of packing up his possessions.

“What’s going on?” He asked. He could make a reasonable guess but he wanted confirmation.

“UNCLE is being disbanded.” Waverly replied shortly. “The USSR withdrew their support after the loss of the KGB’s best agent, other countries soon followed and it was decided that the whole operation should be shut down. Everyone will be returning home.” He paused in the act of placing a pile of papers into a small fire to look at Napoleon. “The CIA will be expecting your return within a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Napoleon asked in surprise. He had been expecting the summons, but not the timeline. If anything he had expected to be returned to the USA immediately after reporting back to Waverly. In truth he was almost longing for it, the opportunity to distract himself with his work and avoid lingering on thoughts that only served to upset him.

“I asked for extra time, I told them I had some affairs I needed you to clear up before your return to the US.”

“And those are?” Napoleon took a seat as Waverly indicated the chair opposite his desk. The older man also sat down to deliver the news, abandoning his papers on the desk so he could give his full attention to his soon-to-be former worker.

“The flats of Agent Teller and Agent Kuryakin are to be cleared out soon. They have not been touched since your last mission.” At this Waverly paused uncomfortably, and continued after Napoleon gave him a short nod to indicate he was prepared to listen to the rest. In truth he found the news affected him more than he would have thought, it was like piece by piece his friends were being erased from this world. He understood the reasoning- there was little use or point in leaving the flats uninhabited aside from a sense of nostalgia, but the thought still made him uncomfortable. “I thought you might like the opportunity to see them before everything is emptied out and incinerated.” Waverly said carefully.

“No.” Napoleon declined immediately, he did not think he could face entering those flats without his friends by his side. Their deaths had been difficult enough to accept without such proof shoved into his face. Entering their home would feel like entering a mausoleum, a shrine to their private life that he would never feel comfortable looking in on. But to his surprise, Waverly did not let the subject drop at his initial refusal.

“You may regret it if you don’t.” Waverly told him solemnly. His persistence caused Napoleon to allow himself a moment of doubt about his reactionary decision. Yes it might be painful to see their homes again, but would he regret not taking the opportunity while it was still available?

“Have you been?” He asked curiously. The older man nodded at the enquiry, surprising Napoleon with the sentimentality of it all. He couldn’t imagine the man walking through those halls and rooms.

“I found the experience helpful for the grieving process.” Waverly said. “It was upsetting to find out how much Gaby had kept from me, I thought she would have trusted me more.” His gaze dropped at that, avoiding Napoleon’s eyes as Waverly sadly reconsidered his friendship with the MI6 agent. It did not take long for Napoleon to figure out what Waverly meant, Gaby’s flat had also been Illya’s main residence. You could not set foot in it without seeing the man’s presence in every room.

“I’ll do it then.” Napoleon said before he could change his mind.

* * *

When it came to picking which flat to visit first, it was a relatively easy choice. From Napoleon’s memories he knew that Illya’s flat was barely lived in, and he might have not bothered to see it but he thought it would be a good warm up for seeing the flat Illya and Gaby had spent most of their time in.

His theory was right and while the flat did hit him with a fresh burst of grief, it was a muted sensation. The flat was as spartanly decorated and furnished as he remembered. There were books in Russian scattered across some shelves, but these were the only personal items he could find. There were still clothes in the wardrobe, and a large stack of trackers and listening devices shoved into a drawer in the bedside table. It appeared that someone had stopped by, since any food left in the kitchen had been cleared out to avoid spoiling and ruining the clean scent of the flat.

Illya had always been painstakingly neat, and despite the fact he had spent little time in this flat it was still pristinely clean, with everything put away in its rightful place. Attitude wise, the Russian had always conflicted with Gaby on this front. Before they had more or less moved in together, Napoleon could remember her flat had always been a mess- clean enough but everything in utter disarray. Clean mugs were left by the sink instead of being put away with other mugs in one of the cupboards, books were left scattered around the living room instead of being returned to their designated shelf where novels she had no interest in were left to rot.

Napoleon’s first glance into the shared flat since the owners had sadly met their end revealed the happy equilibrium between organisation and chaos that had occurred. Unfortunately he found one glance almost too much to bear, and had to sink down next to the front door to allow himself some time to regain control of his emotions. Once the feelings had subsided enough, he made another foray into the flat and this time was better able to examine the scenery without feeling such overwhelming grief. It took him a moment, but he eventually realised that sadness was the predominating emotion he was feeling, and not the red hot fury that had characterised his time in the US and South America.

The flat was exactly how he had remembered it, mostly neat with a few objects scattered around where Gaby had left them. A clean set of plates, mugs and cutlery were still on the draining board, left there after their last shared breakfast as a team in London. No doubt Illya would have cleared them away back into their proper place once they had returned from the US, but he had never had the chance. Again, like with Illya’s flat all food had been cleared away by someone conscientious enough not to disturb the mausoleum this home had become. It didn’t take him long to remember what Waverly had said about his own experience visiting the flats, and he knew immediately how much of an impact this sight would have had on him. Illya and Gaby’s fingerprints were all over the flat, making it unmistakeably the home of a couple.

The mantelpiece held a single photo, one that was taken on a mission in Spain by a random passer-by. It was a picture of the three of them, a final memento from what had been a mostly uneventful mission. As a photo, it would have been reasonably innocuous- three friends or co-workers posing in front of a bridge, but at the last moment before the picture was taken, Gaby had grabbed Illya’s hand and when he had turned to her in slight surprise she had grinned up mischievously at him just as the camera went ‘click’. The end result was a photo of Illya and Gaby looking at each other adoringly while Napoleon stood by glancing at the display of affection with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.

Illya had quietly developed the photo when they returned, and Gaby had framed it when she found it lurking at the bottom of a drawer along with a pile of others. At least this was what Gaby had told him when he had asked about the new decoration given pride of place in the home. He remembered what Waverly had told him about all the possessions being doomed for incineration, and he couldn’t stand the photo of this one memory of a happy moment being burnt to a crisp by some anonymous man throwing objects onto a fire without a thought or consideration for the people who owned these sentimental little pieces. He had brought a backpack with him, and the framed moment was the first object to be placed in it.

He knew that it would probably be best for him to search around for anything else he didn’t want burnt, but he decided to wander about the flat a little longer first, letting himself remember all the good memories he shared with them. Out of slightly morbid curiosity he also took the opportunity to visit rooms he had not been in before. While he should have expected it, he was still surprised to see the two sets of toiletries in the bathroom. Illya’s were mostly cheap and basic supplies, all in their proper place whereas the counters were littered with Gaby’s makeup and expensive French brands of shampoo and conditioner. Their bedroom was in a similar condition, the wardrobe and drawers filled with the items of the two inhabitants. Illya’s suits hung in the wardrobe besides Gaby’s expanding dress collection, the dark colours of his clothes contrasting with the bright and airy fabrics she favoured.

He nearly shut the door of the wardrobe until he saw something hidden among the heels and shoes. He bent down to look more closely at the foreign object, and after picking it up he realised what it was- a photo album. The pages fell open, almost of their own volition, allowing him a window into something very personal. The pictures were all of the two of them in various locations, he recognised many of the locations as places for missions and realised most were taken when they were posing as a couple. It would have been natural enough for the fake married or fake engaged couple to ask people to take photos of them, but after the missions were over one of the two had clearly gone to a lot of effort to develop the photos. The photos were clearly meant for the two of them to enjoy and reminisce, and he felt intrusive as he looked on these intimate moments. He snapped the book shut, wincing at the harshness of the sound, and placed that too in his backpack.

Searching around the rest of the flat, peeking into drawers and examining shelves revealed other personal things he also took with him- jewellery he knew Illya had bought Gaby, Russian books that had her scrawl all over the empty first page- impish little comments she made about Illya’s choice in reading material. Once he had finished, he lingered at the doorway a moment, glancing back into the dark flat one final time with endless regret as he shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a bit of a delay on the next few chapters, I have a lot of assessments on at the moment and its making life difficult so I don’t have as much time available for editing.


	15. Grief IV

With the pack considerably heavier than when he had left, Napoleon returned to his own home to begin packing up all his possessions in preparation for his return to the CIA. He had to pause several times whenever he came across one of the many joke presents Gaby had insisted on buying him- silly little trifles that poked fun at his vanity and commitment phobia, like an engraved hand-held mirror and a fake wedding ring in case he had to make a speedy getaway from his date for the night.

Napoleon almost looked forward to going back to the US, not out of any fondness for his own intelligence agency but because the work would be a welcome distraction from recent events. He would barely have time to think of his two friends if he was dodging gunfire or concentrating on picking a particularly complex lock. Until then he found his mind didn’t choose to cooperate and often his thoughts strayed into such territory, he spent the next few days packing and drinking excessive amounts whenever an unwelcome memory came to mind.

He had been seated on his couch, a half-empty bottle of whisky in one hand and raised his head when he thought he heard the doorbell ring. Slightly dazed, he convinced himself he had imagined it and took another deep swig from the bottle. The second time it rang he wasn’t able to dismiss it, and with a groan he rose to his feet and stumbled to the door, nearly tripping over the carpet. Peering briefly through the eyepiece in the door, he could see that his visitor was Waverly, looking rather impatient at being kept waiting for so long.

“Ah, Napoleon, there you are.” Waverly greeted him when he opened the door, Napoleon could see his gaze drift from his face down to the bottle he held. “Is this a bad time?” He asked delicately.

“No, come in.” He stepped aside and made a half-hearted gesture of welcome. The other man walked in and surveyed the flat with a quick eye.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Waverly said, commenting on the packed up boxes that were scattered across the floor. “I suppose you must be nearly ready to return to the CIA.”

“I want to get back to work.” Napoleon admitted.

“Keeping busy is a good way to get past grief.” Waverly agreed. “MI6 have asked me to head up a new division to keep me occupied, obviously I cannot disclose which.” Napoleon nodded acceptingly, secretly pleased that his ex-boss would not be punished for the failure of UNCLE. Waverly was likely one of the most effective team managers he had ever come across in his entire career and it would have been a shame for him to be cast aside for a disaster he had not been responsible for. “Aside from general pleasantries, there is something else I need to discuss with you.” The other man said, sounding slightly regretful about the message he was to deliver.

“What is that?” Napoleon asked.

“It is about the KGB.” Waverly revealed, shifting uncomfortably. “They have asked myself and the CIA if you would be willing to make a trip to Russia. Illya’s father has apparently not been told then news, and they thought it would be better if he was told by a co-worker that was there rather than a spy agency.” There was silence as the request sunk into Napoleon, the alcohol he had ingested meant it took him longer than normal to realise the full implications.

“And you believed that?” He spluttered incredulously.

“Of course not.” Waverly answered. “If it is any consolation, neither myself nor the CIA think it is a plot to get you on Russian soil for an interrogation, we think it more likely that they wish to punish Mr Kuryakin further by relaying more details about his son’s death. I am certain they have already delivered the news, and simply want to, as it were, twist the knife deeper.” Napoleon swore in disgust, his head shaking in revulsion at the whole idea of it.

“I hope the request was declined.” He said simply, and was surprised to see Waverly shake his head.

“We think it best if you do go.” Before Napoleon could protest, Waverly was hasty to justify his position on the matter. “Such a gesture of friendship from the CIA can only make relations better between the countries. And while I do believe that the whole event has been orchestrated to make Mr Kuryakin suffer more, I believe if you were to speak to him it would actually have more of a beneficial effect. The KGB requested a co-worker, and I suspect they did not realise Agent Kuryakin would cultivate any friendships while on loan to UNCLE, especially any friendship with an American.”

There was another pause as Waverly fought to regain eye contact with Napoleon. “I am not a father, but I have delivered bad news to fathers before and such tidings are always better received from a friend of the deceased rather than a cold and clinical piece of information delivered by an anonymous person in a suit.” After some thought, Napoleon was forced to agree with him. When he had been a soldier he had sometimes had to deliver bad news, sometimes to the families of men he had served with and sometimes not. The former had always seemed more grateful for the personal touch he could give to the news. A final comfort that their relative had been respected and cared for before their life was abruptly cut short.

“You think I should go then?” Napoleon asked, already realising it would only result in a confirmation.

“Yes. But if you do not wish to, I will plead your case to the CIA.” Napoleon shook his head.

“No. I will go to Russia.” He owed it to Illya to make this final gesture.

* * *

Before Napoleon could go to Russia to fulfil the request made by the KGB, he was required to attend a meeting with his CIA handler to discuss the situation. The meeting went pretty much as he expected it to go: his handler demanded that he keep an eye out for any potential intelligence he could bring back, and made all the usual predictable threats should Napoleon let slip anything the KGB could use against them.

With that meeting out of the way, the arrangements were made between the two agencies in order to allow Napoleon to enter the country. As expected it involved a lot of bureaucracy and posturing by the two agencies but eventually the arrangements were made. He was escorted by Americans until the Berlin wall, at which point his companions were changed and he found himself once again practicing his Russian as they travelled through the Soviet Union, even though there was very little conversation to be had. The soldiers he travelled with had clearly been told not to tell him anything, so many of his questions about the locations they passed through went unanswered. Regardless he kept his mind agile and his thoughts focussed, wary that everything he said would likely be documented and reported back.

Napoleon played dumb where possible, keeping a close eye on the towns they passed as he tried to guess the destination. He knew that Illya’s father was still in a gulag, his continuous survival no doubt due to some effort being made to ensure he did not die inconveniently. Someone high up was probably pulling the strings, perhaps Illya’s former handler. From what he had heard about the man, he wouldn’t put it past him. He had often wondered whether there was some sort of personal grievance Illya’s handler had against the senior Kuryakin, it was the only explanation he could think of why Illya’s handler treated him with so little respect when time and time again the KGB agent had proven himself to be an extremely successful agent.

After about a week of travelling, they finally arrived at some large and nondescript building. It was not quite what Napoleon had been expecting so he took it to mean that he was either having a meeting with the KGB ahead of his conversation with Illya’s father or the KGB had decided to have the conversation away from the gulag. The latter particularly made sense when Napoleon considered his own nationality, they would want to avoid giving him any propaganda material he could give the CIA. The soldiers left him at the entrance, their leader informing them that he would be met inside the building by his next guide. Despite the dark thoughts that had plagued his days, Napoleon couldn’t help but feel a small amount of amusement at the whole ordeal. He felt like a child being squabbled over by two parents, neither trusting each other or him to make his way from one to the other without constant supervision. As the soldier had told him, there was a grim faced man in a more serious looking uniform waiting for him.

“Mr Solo, I presume.” The man asked in crisp English.

“Yes, and you are…?” His question went unanswered as the unknown man promptly frisked him, seemingly satisfied enough by the confirmation of his identity. The military man came across something in Napoleon’s pocket and removed it with a frown.

“A photo album.” Napoleon said cheerily as the man suspiciously flicked through the pages. The album was promptly shoved back into his arms once the man was confident it was not a weapon.

“Follow me.” The man ordered as Napoleon stashed the book back into his jacket.

Realising that he was not going to find out who the man was, Napoleon decided to comply with the order, not wanting to give the Russians any excuse to shoot him for noncompliance. He was led to a room deep in the building, and when the door was opened and he saw Illya’s handler, Oleg, behind the desk. Napoleon was gratified to see that at least one of his theories was proven right. The new soldier disappeared, leaving the two men alone in the room. Without prompt, Napoleon took the seat in front of the desk and allowed the suspicious spy to scrutinise him carefully.

“Do you understand why you are here, Mr Solo?” Oleg did not bother with English, clearly having enough intelligence on Napoleon to know that he would understand Russian.

“You wish me to speak to Agent Kuryakin’s father about his son’s death.” Napoleon summarised, careful to keep any emotion out of his voice. He knew that if he sounded like he had any personal investment in his task, it was possible they would stop it going ahead, and he thought that Illya’s father deserved to hear about his death from someone who actually cared.

“That is correct.” Oleg said. “You will be given some privacy for your discussion, and you will not stray from the topic.”

Napoleon was only surprised for a moment by Oleg’s declaration, he had expected the conversation to be carefully supervised but thinking it over some he realised the KGB had little interest in what went on between the two men. Illya’s father would have no relevant intelligence to pass on to him, having spent so long stuck in a gulag, and even had he such information he likely would be in no mood to pass it on. Similarly, there was nothing of use that Napoleon could pass to the other man. With Illya dead, the KGB had lost any interest in information on the man. If he wanted he could disclose to Illya’s father about his son’s relationship with Gaby, and since both had passed on there was little the KGB could do with such information.

“I understand.” Napoleon replied politely. “Is there anything else, or will I be taken to Mr Kuryakin now?” Oleg’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, clearly unused to even the mildest of backchat. Napoleon had to bite his lip to stop himself from further antagonising him as his contrary nature was prone to. He wondered how Illya with his own very fragile temper had managed to cope with the man.

“We have decided to release Mr Kuryakin from his prison, we would like you to pass on the message. A soldier outside this room will escort you to him.” Oleg told him, still as professional as ever. Napoleon was shocked by the offhand remark about Mr Kuryakin’s release but in a way it made sense, what harm could he do now? Oleg waved his hand in a short dismissive gesture, and after attempting a respectful nod Napoleon left the room to meet yet another escort. It was the same military man who had taken him to Oleg, and now he led him somewhere else completely without saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No historical accuracy this chapter, mostly because I justified everything that happened in this chapter as ‘well Russia and America gave up two of their agents in this fictional universe, so why wouldn’t they allow this to happen in the same fictional world?’.


	16. Grief V

As they walked, Napoleon took a renewed interest in the building they were in. It appeared to be very nearly deserted- there were soldiers around but the rooms themselves featured little activity. No tell-tale sounds from behind closed doors to suggest the presence of men hard at work to continue the tireless work of preserving the Soviet Union. He wondered if the building had been emptied for this meeting to take place or if it was a deserted building that had suddenly been given a new purpose. He didn’t have any difficulty guessing which room currently contained Mr Kuryakin, it was heavily guarded and for a moment he let himself imagine that he was about to meet an older version of Illya, equally as fearsome and worthy of such a crowd of soldiers to prevent him from making a daring escape.

When the door was opened he was full of expectation of seeing a grey-haired and wrinkled version of Illya, and the result was oddly disappointing. The wraith-thin twitchy man behind the desk barely resembled his Russian friend, and he nearly turned back to the solder to demand he be taken to the correct man. That desire was immediately dismissed when the man looked up at him, revealing eyes just as blue as he remembered and promptly putting any doubt out of his mind.

The door shut silently behind him, and with his instincts kicking in he gave a brief look around the room and was pleased to see Oleg had not lied about them being alone- whether there were any bugs around was a different matter. He did not doubt that they were present, just in case he was there to implement some far-fetched Western plot that sought to use the elder Kuryakin for some unknown purpose. With his cursory inspection completed, Napoleon returned his gaze to the defeated-looking man at the table, and the two men looked at each other in silence as Napoleon took the seat opposite him.

A brief glance downwards allowed Napoleon to notice there were no restraints on the other man, something he found a little odd considering the man was still a prisoner. Perhaps the years of imprisonment had left him so quiet and docile that he posed no threat to anyone, or perhaps he no longer held any value to them with Illya gone. At the first sight of resistance it would take no real effort to put a bullet in the back of his head, and nor would it be against their interests to do so. There was no longer a precariously-placed son that could turn on them and deliver sensitive information to their enemies should they push his loyalties too far with such an action.

Their eyes met again and Napoleon found that all his carefully prepared words about Illya’s virtues left him suddenly, and he did not know what to say to his friend’s father. For one of the few times in his life, he was rendered utterly speechless. The feeling was foreign and at that moment totally unwelcome.

“I’m told you are to tell me about my son’s death.” To Napoleon’s relief the other man spoke first, his as English heavily accented as he would have expected. He was not surprised that the news had already been delivered, Waverly had thought as much and he felt a sudden deep pang of sympathy for Illya’s father. He must have known what Napoleon’s purpose was in being there, or at least why the KGB had asked him to conduct this meeting.

“Yes, I was working with him when it happened.” Napoleon said, letting some of his own grief seep into his voice. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” The confirmation barely had any effect on Mr Kuryakin. The man already looked so lost and defeated that Napoleon expected nothing really could make things worse for him. He couldn’t even imagine what Mr Kuryakin was feeling. His mother had tried once to explain to him the sheer devastation of how it felt to lose a child- his own sister had died in a tragic accident before his own birth. While he still struggled to understand the sheer emotion of it, it was his mother’s words that he now turned to in an attempt to empathise with the man before him.

“They did not tell me what happened. Just that he had died.” Mr Kuryakin said glumly, and Napoleon swallowed uncomfortably as he could guess what the man wanted from him.

“I was not there when it happened.” Napoleon began slowly. “But I arrived soon after. I worked with Illya and with an MI6 agent, and it was while we were on a mission that he died.” He did not know whether or not the KGB had told Illya’s father about UNCLE, and there was nothing on the man’s expression that indicated surprise or not. “We thought that the mission had ended, so we were all packing up. Illya and the MI6 agent, Gaby, were at their mission house and I was at mine. But our targets had managed to evade capture, and they went after Gaby and Illya for revenge.” The man continued to look at him with the same blank stare, not reacting to anything Napoleon said. “I tried to get there in time, but I was too late.” He cut himself off quickly before he could start adding further justification for why he had not been able to save either Gaby or Illya, and his hesitation had the added benefit of avoiding being overly explicit about how Illya had died.

“Was it quick?” At Napoleon’s initial confusion, Illya’s father elaborated. “His death. I don’t know how he died.”

“It would have been quick and painless.” Napoleon reassured. “He was unconscious when it happened. Do you want to know how-” Mr Kuryakin seemed to know where the conversation was heading and quickly interrupted Napoleon.

“No. I think I would rather not know what they did to him.” He paused. “I am glad he wasn’t scared or in pain. It is a small comfort to me, and would have been to his mother had she still been with us.”

The poor man had lost everything now, Napoleon realised, his wife has been gone for some time but he had still had a son to sustain him and now that last familial connection was gone.

“You know, Illya never questioned whether or not I did embezzle funds.” The man said suddenly, breaking the silence that had come over them both. He barely seemed to be speaking to Napoleon, and appeared to be vocalising his thoughts as they came to him. “We met several times over the years, when he did well enough that the KGB wanted to reward him.” He had a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered scenes Napoleon could not even imagine. “He would tell me about his work and how well he was doing. He never asked whether it was my fault he had to work twice as hard as everyone else.”

Illya’s father suddenly met his gaze, his focus suddenly sharp on his audience. “I did steal that money.” He confessed. “He thought it was some plot to discredit me since I was so close to Stalin, but it wasn’t. I was stupid. I wanted to be able to buy my family nicer things, provide them with a better life. I never imagined it would backfire so badly.” He laughed suddenly, a bitter unhappy sound. “My wife is dead, my son was killed trying to restore the family name, and all because I wanted to drive a better car.” He shook his head in disgust.

Napoleon could not judge the man, he had done worse for even more selfish reasons. He had spent most of his life stealing jewellery, money, paintings, anything that would fetch a decent price. He did not have the excuse that he did it for his family, he had almost always done it for himself because he enjoyed the lifestyle. The only reason he had gotten away with it as lightly as he did was because he had enough skill in doing it that the CIA had found a use for him. The man in front of him had fumbled the job in an even more hostile environment, and had not been valuable enough to get away with it. He had paid the price of his betrayal in blood, and it would haunt it for the rest of his life.

With Illya’s father’s revelation about his criminal activity out in the open, Napoleon was unsure about what to say. There were a thousand more things he wanted to tell the man, but an awkward silence had settled over both of them and he felt it inappropriate to suddenly blurt out about what a great man he thought Illya was. Yes, he was sure it would have been comforting for the other man to hear, but coming after such a guilt-drenched confession it felt harsh to start extolling the virtues of a son whose death he clearly felt responsible for. Luckily for him, Napoleon was not the one that ended up breaking the silence as Illya’s father spoke up again, changing the subject.

“The KGB told me Illya had been behaving traitorously towards the end of his life.” He said suddenly, once again sounding oddly detached. “According to them he had a relationship with some East German defector.” This news did come as a surprise. Napoleon couldn’t guess how the KGB had found out about Gaby and Illya, and he hated that their relationship was being used as yet another rod to beat the man before him.

“That is essentially true.” He replied carefully. “Illya was in a relationship with a woman from East Germany, but there was nothing traitorous about it. He wasn’t doing it out of spite, and he never betrayed Russia. They were in love and they were happy.” The man before him simply nodded, not giving any indication as to whether this information pleased him or not.

“The KGB told me she was pregnant but they wouldn’t tell me what happened to her. Has she returned to Germany?” It took a few moments before the innocent question registered with Napoleon and he felt himself pale considerably. The KGB had not told Mr Kuryakin about what had happened to Gaby, in a horrifying final insult they had allowed Illya’s father some small grain of hope with the expectation that Napoleon would be forced to crush it. In the end he didn’t even have to say anything, by the brief moment of devastation that appeared on Mr Kuryakin’s face it appeared that Napoleon’s expression in response to the question had been enough of an answer.

“Unfortunately, Gaby died too. She was our co-worker, she died at the same time as Illya.” Napoleon told him solemnly.

“She was the MI6 agent?”

“Yes.” Napoleon confirmed. “They were buried in the US together.” He added.

“Perhaps it was for the best.” Mr Kuryakin said glumly. “They would never have allowed an MI6 and KGB agent to have a child together.” It was an echo of the sentiment Waverly had nearly expressed not so long ago, and to Napoleon it was depressing how common this mind-set seemed to be. In this world, even something as basic and human as a couple having a baby could be rendered an impossible course of action.

“I brought this with me.” Napoleon said abruptly, remembering the book he had taken from their flat. He felt Mr Kuryakin’s eyes on him as he rummaged around and retrieved the book, setting it on the table that separated him from Illya’s father. “I found this in the flat they shared, I thought you might like to see it.”

The man gave him a curious look as he flipped open the first page, and Napoleon saw him visibly flinch as the first photo came into view. He had removed the photo of the three of them from the frame and added it to the album for ease of transport, and it was this photo that Illya’s father now examined. Napoleon would have thought him unaffected if it was not for the trembling finger he used to trace his son’s face. He waited silently as Mr Kuryakin slowly flicked through the pages, lingering for a long time on the photos of Illya that Gaby had clearly taken while they were at home: Illya frowning as he contemplated a chessboard, Illya with an indulgent smile as he looked straight at the lens. There were single photos of Gaby as well, but these were skipped over. Napoleon did not begrudge his lack of interest, after all to Mr Kuryakin she had only been a stranger that had momentarily carried his grandchild.

“Thank you for that.” Illya’s father said, pushing the album back towards Napoleon. The photos did seem to have had a positive effect on him, he did not look happy by any stretch of the imagination but he looked a little more at peace.

“Do you not want to keep it?” Napoleon asked with a frown, he had been prepared to give up the album if the man had wanted it.

“No. It was nice to see, but I don’t think I would cope well if I kept it.” Mr Kuryakin admitted. After some thought Napoleon felt he could understand the reasoning, Illya’s father did not have the same good memories as him, and the photos while nice to look at might only serve to exacerbate his guilt. He re-pocketed the album with some hesitation.

“If you won’t accept the album, perhaps you’ll take this back.” Napoleon suggested, retrieving the watch he had also brought with him. “It doesn’t work anymore, I was going to get it fixed but I didn’t have time.” Illya’s father took the watch with a strange look on his face, he moved his thumb over the broken clock face and without further ado placed it on his wrist.

“I had almost forgotten about the watch.” He said mournfully. “I gave it to Illya when I was arrested. I told him that he would have to be a big boy and look after his mother while I was gone. I told him to make me proud.” His gaze flickered away from the watch suddenly, fixating on a scratch in the metal of the desk. “I shouldn’t have put such a burden on him. Thank you for this.” Mr Kuryakin raised his head and gave him a small smile.

“The KGB also asked me to pass on another message.” Napoleon said slowly, unsure as to how this piece of information would be received. “They said they will be releasing you from the gulag.” Illya’s father still wore the same strange smile, and he shook his head.

“I think I’ll stay. There is no point leaving now.” Napoleon felt a stab of pity, had he been in the same position he is not sure he would have been able to make a different choice. He was an old man now, with a disgraced name- perhaps even more disgraced than it already was if the KGB made it common knowledge about Illya’s romantic interest in Gaby. His wife was dead and his son was dead. The gulag had been his home for well over a decade, and there was now nothing on the outside for him to return to. They lapsed back into silence as the door opened and Oleg reappeared.

“All finished?” Oleg asked brusquely in Russian.

“Yes.” Illya’s father said, a hand playing with the watch on his wrist. “I would like to go back now.” Oleg did not look surprised, if anything he looked like he had expected that answer.

“Agent Solo, you may leave now. You will be escorted back to East Berlin.” Oleg told Napoleon. There was no thank you or suggestion of gratitude, despite the fact he was meant to have done this as a favour for them. Napoleon chose not to say anything about the rudeness of his dismissal, and at Oleg’s gesture he rose from the chair and made his way out of room, stopping to glance back once to see Oleg take his now empty seat. Illya’s father only looked resigned at the prospect of more talking. The door shut, and after a firm cough from his escort, Napoleon turned and followed him out of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that load of misery was fun, wasn’t it? Thanks to everyone that is still supporting the story, I really appreciate it :) Sorry about the massive delay, I got super overwhelmed with uni work and to be honest I still have a lot on at the moment. Expect more delays. Once January is over I might have a bit more spare time on my hands to edit the rest of the chapters and post them.


	17. Grief VI

Napoleon’s journey back to London went similarly to his journey to the Soviet Union. It was mind-numbingly dull to be passed from escort to escort but mostly uneventful. He supposed that he should be grateful that nothing had gone catastrophically wrong, although at least that would have provided some much needed break in the monotony and misery of it all. The wet weather that greeted him once he exited the airport seemed to mirror his mood, and his disposition only soured further when he returned to his flat to find his handler waiting for him.

“Get your things.” The CIA handler ordered. “Our flight back is in an hour.” Napoleon nodded and did as he was told without complaint, knowing his movements were being carefully watched. He felt the album like a weight in his pocket and knew he couldn’t pack it away until his handler’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Luckily, the sound of the doorbell was enough of a distraction for Napoleon to slip the book underneath a small pile of his shirts. He straightened up again as he heard the sound of a small argument break out at the door, the English accent of one of the voices betraying the visitor as Waverly. Whatever the topic of the disagreement was, Waverly seemed to have won as his handler threw a dirty look at the Englishman before storming out of the flat.

“How was your trip?” Waverly asked.

“As good as could be expected.” Napoleon replied. “No one tried to kill me at any rate, although Illya’s handler may have wanted to at several times.”

“And his father? How did he take the news?”

“Pretty well, all things considered. He didn’t give much away.” Napoleon said truthfully. “I could have been telling him about his pet dying and his reaction would have probably been much the same.”

“He has likely had to live like that for a very long time.” Waverly surmised. “Betraying his true feelings about anything might have had consequences. It can’t be easy staying so in control like that when receiving such tragic news.”

“They didn’t tell him about Gaby’s death.” Napoleon said mournfully. “He knew that she was pregnant but now that she died, that can’t have been accidental.”

“I imagine they thought it would have more impact that way.” Waverly said after a moment. “Hearing you might have a grandchild could soften the blow of a son’s death. Ripping that away afterwards, I can’t imagine how that must have felt.” Napoleon had to agree and they both fell silent as they tried to contemplate it. “You’ll be returning to the USA soon, I presume?”

“Yes, that’s how it seems.” Napoleon said. “It’s been a pleasure working for you, Alex.” The first name felt odd on his tongue, but calling him ‘Mr Waverly’ seemed far too formal for the circumstances.

“The pleasure has been all mine, Napoleon.” Waverly returned, and with a final nod of respect to each other the Englishman departed, allowing his handler to return.

“Are you ready yet?” He demanded.

“Yes, sir.” Napoleon replied, closing up his suitcase and picking it up by the handle. He was ready to get back to work.

* * *

Napoleon threw himself into his work with a vigour that surprised many of the people who knew him at the CIA. Some thought that his time spent working with Russians had reignited his non-existent patriotism, but focusing on plots did wonders to distract him from his ever continuing grief. For once in his career as a spy, he avoided toeing the line as much as he had done in the past, not out of any loyalty to the CIA but out of a desire to leave as soon as his sentence with them finished.

He wasn’t a fool, he knew that if he continued to steal and make a general nuisance of himself then they might have an excuse to extend his time with them further. Before, the thought would not have bothered him too much. Yes he had always hated being their lapdog, Illya had hit the nail on the head at their first proper meeting when he had commented on the fact that Napoleon was on a very short leash. He would not have lashed out so harshly, pressing uncomfortable buttons like Illya’s mother’s reputation, had the comment not been so close to the bone. He regrets now the things he said in that moment of anger. Illya’s comment had been insulting, but the attack was focussed solely on Napoleon and his own failures. He had no right to start attacking Illya’s family in his rebuttal. He had tried to apologise once, but Illya had brushed him away telling him an apology was unnecessary. It never ceased to surprise him that someone who was so prone to violent rages had endless capacity for forgiveness and tended not to hold grudges.

As usual, he was placed on honeypots more than he would really like. It was an unpleasant but familiar role to fall back into. Near the beginning of his career he had tolerated more, but as time had passed he had begun to feel more and more like a convenient prostitute with the hands of an experienced thief. At least the women were mostly a pleasant enough distraction, almost always they were the trophy wives of some criminal of sorts who were pleased at the attentions he gave them even if they reeked of falsity. Women who rose to such positions were rarely idiots as many assumed, Victoria Vinciguerra being a prime example of contradicting the stereotype. Each seduction always felt like a careful dance of pretence and lies, where both parties knew the other had an ulterior motive and the game was to discover what they were hiding. Napoleon had always held the edge in such altercations, he had been lying and cheating his entire life so the subterfuge came easily to him and he was able to remain emotionally detached. Still he found his current apathetic mood translated poorly into his work and he became more careless than usual, culminating in an episode when the wife of a corrupt millionaire stumbled upon the album he still brought with him everywhere.

“Who are these people?” Cathy had asked. He had been lying on the bed, idly flicking through that morning’s paper and had paid little attention to where her tentative exploration of his hotel room had led her to. The sight of the album in her uncaring hands had brought a sudden angry protectiveness out of him that he had to stifle.

“No one important.” He tried to play it off and smiled at her suavely. “Come back to bed, it’s rather cold over here.” She danced away from his hands, holding the album above her head while she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and grinned at him.

“Seriously, is this some old girlfriend that you never got over? She’s very pretty.” She had the page opened to one of the photos of Gaby by herself, likely taken by Illya. It was not one he had left in the album when he had taken it to Illya’s father, it was a picture too intimate to really be seen by anyone. Gaby’s shoulders were bare in the photo, she smiled softly up at the photographer, her expression loving and affectionate as she held what could only be the rumpled remains of a bedsheet up to cover her chest.

“Yes.” He said simply, hoping the answer would soothe her curiosity. “Would you please give it back?” He left the bed and reached out for it, but again she moved out of reach and flicked through several more pages.

“A little odd to have a book full of photos of your ex and her new lover.” She commented. “You have photos of him as well, did you have something going on with him too?” He finally succeeded in snatching the album out of her hands, closing it to hide its secrets from her prying eyes.

“No, he was my brother.” The lie slipped out before he could stop it.

“Was?”

“He died.” Napoleon replied shortly, turning his back to Cathy as he returned the book to its shelf. He would have to buy some sort of cover for it, make it look like some boring literature so that visitors did not pay it any attention. A ‘War and Peace’ cover might be appropriate.

“And your ex?”

“She died too, car crash.” Cathy let out a sudden gasp.

“Oh you poor thing, to lose both so tragically.” He let her fuss over him, taking the kisses planted over his face with fake enthusiasm. She drew back slightly, and he could see it in her eyes that she was too curious to let the subject drop so easily. “So what exactly happened between you three?” Her eyes widened as she came to some realisation. “She picked your brother didn’t she? You were in love with her and she picked him over you.”

Had he been in love with Gaby? No, he wasn’t stupid enough to let himself think something so absurd. But he wouldn’t deny that he did feel something for her, a silly unrequited attraction or desire he had never allowed himself to dwell on for too long. When they had first met he had pulled his usual tricks, thinking that his customary charm and good looks would be enough to gain her attention as it was normally enough for most of the women he tried to bed. She had ignored every thinly veiled comment with nothing more than a raised eyebrow or a snort, instead she had been more drawn to Illya’s clumsy attempt at courtship and utter lack of charm and flattery. His blunt comments, sometimes to the point of being insulting, had always elicited more of a reaction than his own more subtle gestures.

Had Illya been anyone else, Napoleon might have become jealous of how easily he seemed to draw such a firecracker like Gaby, but he was so honest and open about his feelings that he was impossible to dislike for that reason alone. She had not been the first woman to reject him, not by far. Plenty of women in the past had been perceptive enough to see through him, but in their cases he had simply been able to leave and never give them another thought. It was not so easy with Gaby, especially when he saw her near every day. Napoleon thinks that his continued affection and desire for her may be more of a product of her rejection rather than any feelings of love. Had she lived and Illya died in the explosion, he knows or at least he hopes he would never have acted on it, to take advantage of her grief like that would have made him feel filthier than all of his less pleasant honeypot missions put together.

“Something like that.” He told Cathy simply in response to her slightly melodramatic theory.

“And then they died together, how tragically romantic.” She nearly squealed at the thought, he felt a stab of irritation but didn’t let it show. She had not had the best marriage, and who was he to deny her little fantasy? She spent the rest of the night showing her appreciation for the story, apparently trying to soothe him over his loss. He lost himself in her perfumed hair and body, trying to forget.

* * *

He continued to work effectively, remaining the consummate CIA agent while on missions, and being anything but during his time off. He avoided stealing, except on the odd occasion where he wanted to brush up his skills or the target was too tempting to avoid. One day, having finally completed the sentence he had been given, he found himself seated opposite his handler in Virginia.

“Well your time with us has come to an end.” His handler said grudgingly. “The position is still available, should you wish to continue.”

“Thank you but no.” Napoleon replied. He had given this day a lot of thought, and had come to the decision that he didn’t want to work for the CIA anymore. Working with UNCLE had given him a great insight into what it would be like to work for an agency that actually cared about its agents, and he knew that if he agreed to continue working with the CIA it would not end well. While he had worked out his sentence, they had been careful to keep any non-essential information away from him, conscious that the day would come when he would be given the opportunity to leave and they wanted to ensure he did not take any sensitive information with him when he left. If he stayed he had no guarantees they would let him go so easily.

“Very well.” His handler said, voice not giving away whether he was disappointed or relieved by the decision. “You need to pack up your office and leave by the end of the week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! Managed to get another chapter out, but this doesn't mean there won't still be delays.


	18. Grief VII

With his ties to the CIA finally severed, Napoleon suddenly experienced an excess of freedom that he didn’t really know what to do with. For the past five years he had existed in a perpetual cycle of mission, downtime and mission again. Now that the structure was gone in his life he felt strangely purposeless. Before Rome, he had made grand plans for when he would escape the CIA’s employ- places he would visit, items he would steal. It all seemed very hollow now. The thought reminded him uncomfortably that he had been given a chance Illya and Gaby would have never received. The intervening years had done wonders to help him move on from his grief, time really being the best healer for these kind of things, but he still remembered them with some sadness rather than with only happy memories.

He spent some months travelling around the USA, trying to reconnect with his roots. He returned to his home town and found it much changed from his childhood. He drank too much, slept with married women and stole as much and as often as he dared. He found these activities, that had been such a great part of his life before, no longer held the same thrills as they had previously. He travelled listlessly around, trying to find something to occupy him for more than a few days and found nothing. With nothing to do anymore, he found himself feeling a rather foreign emotion of loneliness. It did not matter how many women he found to distract himself with, the feeling would not leave him and he felt hollow with each empty night spent in the arms of yet another stranger.

Eventually, Napoleon decided that the problem was that he had been in the USA too long, a change of scenery might help. He stole enough to buy himself a plane ticket to Europe, and unbidden his thoughts turned to Waverly. Perhaps he could go to London and pay him a visit, if anyone could sympathise with how he was feeling it would be him. With his course of action decided, Napoleon booked a flight to London and spent the journey nursing a large glass of scotch and flirting with the stewardess.

When he arrived he was tempted to head straight to the flat he knew Waverly used while working in the city, but found himself hesitating. While he did want to see Waverly again, he didn’t know if he wanted to do it immediately. Would it be seen as too desperate and pathetic? The thought that he might appear so made him shudder, and he resolved to spend a few days travelling around London and enjoying the sights before he approached his former boss.

The bars he used to frequent remembered him, which was a pleasant surprise. What was slightly less pleasant was that they also remembered the couple he was usually joined by, and remembering that he had spent many hours drinking with Gaby and discussing politics with Illya in these pubs and bars was bittersweet. He did enjoy seeing the sites, it was something he had not really done before in the city of London or any city during his time as a spy for that matter. There was never enough time in all the exotic locations they visited to spend any time playing tourist. Now he was officially ‘retired’ he found he had plenty of time to spare for such frivolous activities. He wasted whole days in the various museums, drinking in the history he had never cared about enough to learn.

Eventually Napoleon could not put off his visit any longer, and he made his way to to the flat, hoping that Waverly would be home that evening and had not moved somewhere else. The familiar face that appeared at the door assuaged his fears and Napoleon felt a genuine smile come to his face.

“Napoleon, what a pleasant surprise!” Waverly greeted with infectious enthusiasm. He was invited in, and as it was the first time Napoleon had ever been inside he examined the surroundings with some curiosity. It wasn’t quite what he had expected, he had thought Waverly would have lived somewhere very similar to Illya’s flat- utilitarian with very little room for luxuries or needless decoration. Instead it was much more somewhere where Napoleon himself might have lived without any complaint- original artwork on the walls, antique furniture, plush armchairs which were a pleasure to sit on. Without bothering to ask since he already knew the answer, Waverly poured him a generous glass of whisky.

“I’ve been waiting for an occasion to open this bottle. I picked a few up last time I was in Scotland from my friend’s whisky distillery, the others have all been drunk so I’m down to this final bottle.”

Napoleon took a sip from the glass and nearly groaned in enjoyment, it was truly excellent. He would have to remember to get the name of the place so he could pick up a few. He was in the UK anyway, why not make a trip further north? It wasn’t as if he had better things to do.

“I understand your time with the CIA came to an end.” Waverly commented, sipping from his own glass.

“Have you been keeping an eye on me?” Napoleon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I keep an eye on all ex-UNCLE agents.” He paused sombrely. “There seem to be so few left now.” Waverly brightened slightly. “Have you considered what you will do now?”

“Not really. Travel around perhaps.” Napoleon replied with a shrug.

“If you ever need some work I can find you a position.” Waverly suggested.

“With MI6?” His scepticism was not subtle.

“Not quite. The department I run now has international interests, and where relevant we hand over intelligence to other governments. It is considerably safer than UNCLE, and our funding isn’t quite so volatile.” Napoleon was almost tempted, it would be something to occupy his time and working for Waverly had always been preferable than working for his old handler. Still, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get back in this line of work.

“No guarantees, but I will think about it.” He promised, and his answer seemed to delight Waverly more than a vague ‘maybe’ should have done.

“Excellent, well enough business talk for now. Have you enjoyed your time in London so far?” Napoleon guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Waverly already knew he had arrived in the country, but he put it out of mind and started relating his tourist stories.

Napoleon and Waverly spoke for at least an hour or two on various topics- UNCLE members that were still alive, memories of old missions, nostalgic stories about the UNCLE top team that Waverly had not heard before. When it became late Napoleon had made his excuses to return back to his hotel, wary that he might be outstaying his welcome, Waverly making him promise to give some more thought to his job offer before he left. He still did not know entirely whether he wanted to take him up on it, he had a mix of good and bad memories of working with Waverly and knew that those memories would be unavoidable if he returned to working for him.

Waverly had reassured him that he was not planning on moving flat anytime soon, and that he would be home most evenings if Napoleon wanted to talk or further discuss his offer. He returned to his hotel room and raided the mini bar until he was too drunk to think it over any further and stress himself out about it. He woke up the next morning with a raging hangover and spent most of the day in bed trying to recover.

When he felt human again, he returned to his previous occupation of visiting all the various landmarks in London and drinking slightly more than reasonable amounts. He brushed up on his pickpocketing skills to fund his ventures in some of the more expensive bars, charming some women just long enough to slip off diamond rings or gold necklaces that they wouldn’t miss. He had been admiring a particularly bright looking sapphire pendent when his victim let an interesting tidbit slip.

“A party you say?” Napoleon asked, interest piqued.

“Oh yes.” The woman, a slightly older lady who concealed her years with more than her fair share of makeup, gushed. “It should be wonderful, I can’t make it myself which will be such a shame. Lord Barrow is so very wealthy, and I imagine that all manner of great people will be attending.” That seemed very promising to Napoleon, it had been a long time since he had done something as brazen as rob someone during a party, and if the host was as wealthy as the woman claimed then it was likely there would be a free bar with good quality alcohol available. That by itself would have been enough of an incentive to attend.

“Invitation only?” Napoleon enquired.

“Yes, have you not received one?” A slight frown marred her features as she reconsidered his importance.

“Probably, I have not been home in a while so it is likely it arrived while I was away.” Napoleon bluffed. “I’ll make sure to pick it up before I head over.” He neatly divested her of her necklace while her attention was elsewhere and made a quick escape, confident she would not miss it among the piles of other jewellery she was also adorned with.

Napoleon researched the party a little more, visiting a few more expensive bars and mentioning it offhand to see if he could gather any more information without drawing too much attention to himself. Through that he learnt the location, date and time the event was supposed to start. That should be enough, and he could steal an invitation when he arrived. He wondered whether he should warn Waverly about what he was planning to do, it would not go well if he stole from a friend of his. But if it was a friend he could always return anything, Waverly would be sure to speak to him if someone he knew was robbed. Napoleon’s personal motto did tend to be ‘it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission’.

Decision made, he prepared himself for a more dangerous evening than usual, and the prospect excited him more than it probably should. He dressed in his best suit, concealing lock picks all about his person. Stealing effectively was mostly about presence. If you looked and sounded like you belonged, people would be less suspicious that you would rob them blind. There was a reason that the help were always blamed if the silverware went missing and not the well-dressed and charming visitor with quick hands.

Suitably attired, he hired a car from several roads away from his hotel to drive him to the venue, aiming to arrive late but not late enough that he would be the only person arriving at that time. No one ever arrived early to these kind of events. When he arrived he congratulated himself on having picked the time perfectly, it seemed to be the point when everyone was making their way to the estate and he had an easy time bumping into a suited man and relieving him of his invitation. Men were the easiest to steal such items from, they always kept them in the same place.

Napoleon strolled up to the entrance, exuding a well-practiced aura of wealth and charm. He handed over the stolen invitation with a smile to the man checking tickets and was admitted without even an ounce of suspicion. He eyed the décor with a proprietary gaze, already seeing several items that would be small enough to conceal and expensive enough to be worth the risk. Still that could wait, he would prefer to enjoy the free bar for some time before he focussed on his main reason for being there.

The ballroom where everyone had assembled was pretty full of the usual crowd that would attend events like these, he could probably live comfortably for a year if he robbed just one heavily laden woman. That kind of thing would get a thief noticed, so he tried to avoid taking too much from a single target. There was a band playing soft music to accompany the general chatter of people talking, and he paused a moment to enjoy the atmosphere before promptly heading over to the bar. As predicted, several of his favourite drinks were available and he made a fair dent in a bottle of something fairly pricey in a very short amount of time. He leaned back against the counter as he sipped, watching the crowd idly. He was acutely aware of another man approaching the bar to order two glasses of scotch, and readied himself for conversation should the man speak to him.

“Enjoying the party?” The man asked, his upper class English accent matching nicely with the plain but exquisitely tailored suit he wore.

“Extremely.” Napoleon commented drolly.

“I could tell. You’ve singlehandedly nearly emptied that bottle. Should you not perhaps restrain yourself a little?” The sarcasm was unexpected but it immediately rubbed Napoleon up the wrong way.

“It’s a free bar. And your concern for my health is unwanted. So if you would kindly fuck off, that would be greatly appreciated.” Napoleon drawled, trying to sound as patronising as possible. The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly greatly amused by something he had said and for a moment Napoleon stilled in worry as he wondered whether he had inadvertently let something slip.

“This is my house and my party. I cannot exactly ‘fuck off’ as you so delicately phased it.” Napoleon nearly swore loudly at that, of all the people he could have bumped into at the party and insulted it had to be the host. There was little way he could steal anything now and get away with it, although with the man’s attitude the temptation was stronger than ever. Luckily for him a curvy and attractive blonde woman appeared at that point, pressing her lips lightly to the man’s bearded cheek.

“Did you get my drink, darling?” She asked before she turned her attention to Napoleon. The first thing he noticed about her was the extremely flattering dress she wore which drew ample attention to her full cleavage, the second thing he noticed was the diamond on her finger. Not as large as he would expect for the wife of the owner of such a lavish house but certainly worth his attention. The man, Lord Barrow if he was correct, handed over the second glass. “Hello!” She greeted Napoleon cheerily. “Have I interrupted something?”

“Nothing of consequence, Madame.” Napoleon reassured politely. “I was merely making my compliments on the party to Lord Barrow.” The lack of correction on the name assured Napoleon he had been correct.

“It is a wonderful party isn’t it?” She replied, heavily made up eyes wide with enthusiasm. “You’ll have to forgive me, we have so many guests and I am terrible with names Mr…?”

“Howard.” Napoleon supplied taking her hand to press a chivalrous kiss on the back of it, using the opportunity to slip the ring off her finger. It was a well-practiced manoeuvre and with some sleight of hand he pocketed the expensive trinket.

“Well Mr Howard, please enjoy the rest of the party. Unfortunately I need to retrieve my husband so as much as this has been a pleasure it will have to continue at some other time.” She turned her attention back towards her husband. “The Kingstons have arrived, we should go speak to them.”

“Of course.” Lord Barrow agreed, and after a final nod to Napoleon he linked arms with his wife and marched off to speak to some other couple.

Napoleon watched the back of them as they left, quickly draining his drink. He had hoped to avoid his hosts where possible, but now he knew he needed to make a quick getaway, he had probably brought too much suspicion on himself by acting recklessly, Lord Barrow would likely check the guestlist at some point for the fake name he had used and realise there had been a gatecrasher. He would also soon discover that his wife had lost her wedding ring, and he would have to be a moron not to put two and two together. Taking the ring had been an impulsive move, one that he may come to regret. He made his way out of the house, picking up a few other pieces on the way. Some of the artwork looked like it may have been worth a pretty penny, but he simply did not have the time or patience to think about removing any.

Returning to his hotel room, he took stock of what he had managed to retrieve from the house. It was a pretty decent haul overall, but he wouldn’t be able to sell it until he knew for sure that Waverly was not friendly with Lord Barrow, especially now that his victim would be able to give a pretty decent description of his appearance. He stashed it all away with the rest of his loot, underneath a floorboard he had loosened for that exact reason.

Thankfully, he heard nothing from Waverly over the next few days and nearly allowed himself to relax. He kept an eye on the newspapers, looking out for any notifications about his escapades and was pleased but a little surprised to find nothing. Perhaps they were too embarrassed about being so easily duped? It was not uncommon, he had stolen more expensive things and earned the same quiet response. Those that were wealthy enough usually just replaced the stolen item, and perhaps this time Lord Barrow might find a bigger diamond for his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay guys, I’ve honestly been so busy I’ve just not had the time. Hope you enjoyed Napoleon’s most recent escapade, I really want to write a heist. It’s not something I’ve had the chance to write before and I probably got a bit too excited with Napoleon and his stealing ways.


	19. Grief VIII

Unfortunately, Napoleon eventually found out that he hadn’t managed to escape the consequences of his impromptu night of theft when he returned to his hotel one night to find Waverly waiting for him, having already made himself comfortable with a glass of wine.

“This is an unexpected visit.” Napoleon commented, draping his coat over an armchair and refusing to allow the other man to see him phased by his presence. “I thought you would give me more time to consider your offer.”

“I was planning to.” Waverly admitted, folding away his newspaper. “But I thought I would come see you after recent events came to light.”

“Oh?” Napoleon feigned ignorance.

“You stumbled on one of my operations.” Waverly said and this revelation came as such a surprise that Napoleon’s carefully crafted mask slipped slightly revealing his shock. “I wasn’t expecting you to be that keen.” He commented drily.

“I apologise, I did not realise. I hope I didn’t mess things up too badly.” Napoleon said sincerely. He wondered what on earth interest Waverly could have possibly had in such a gathering.

“Not at all. Your presence did come as a bit of a surprise though. Some warning about your plans would have been helpful.” He replied pointedly, and Napoleon felt himself turn red against his wishes. Waverly always gave off the air of a disappointed parent whenever he admonished his team.

“I am sorry.” Napoleon said sincerely, and felt a sudden burst of curiosity. “What exactly where you doing there?

“Surveillance work.” Waverly said nonchalantly. “I could tell you more if you decided to work for me again.”

“I do appreciate the offer, Alex. I’m just not sure if I want to start doing spy work again.” Napoleon said honestly.

“Well why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” Waverly suggested. “No obligations. I could introduce you to some of my agents, let them tell you what the work is like. Clear up any lingering doubts.”

“No strings attached?” Napoleon asked sceptically.

“None. If you’re going to work for me I would like you to be willing, not duped into it.” Waverly promised. “Should I expect you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Napoleon said before he could change his mind. He didn’t stand to lose anything by talking to a few people, and he trusted Waverly at his word that he would not be obligated to join by visiting the next day.

“Excellent.” Waverly looked pleased as punch and he rummaged around his coat for something. “Here’s the address.” He said, handing over a card. Napoleon examined it as he took it, it was a business card listing Waverly’s full name and the address of his new headquarters.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Napoleon managed to say with a smile.

* * *

A couple of hours later and Napoleon was still wide awake, already regretting what he had said to Waverly. Now that his initial feelings over the conversation had faded he could feel immense doubt for what was ahead. Had he inadvertently led Waverly on about his potential desire to work with him again? He still really did not know how to feel about the whole situation, was he ready to sign his life away again? No, he decided, he wasn’t. He had seen how his spy career could end, and it conflicted with his personal wish of dying from a heart attack underneath a beautiful young woman.

Napoleon struggled over it until dawn lightened his room, and he sat up with a sigh and rubbed his tired eyes. He would look a state when he arrived at Waverly’s office, _if he arrived that is_. It occurred to him that he had enough resources to sell off to acquire a plane ticket far away from London, he could leave and never bother to meet up with Waverly. He was sure the other man would understand, even considering taking on another job as a spy could not be a decision taken lightly.

But was escaping really a solution? He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, he had been restless. It was difficult making the transition from his adrenaline-rich career back to a life of obscurity. Even stealing no longer had the same thrills as it had so long ago, mostly perhaps because he knew that the likely worst consequence would be that he would be forced to repay another debt to society, either through prison time or more spy work. And it was a likely possibility. He felt like he knew himself pretty well- he would keep doing more and more dangerous things until he felt like he was living life to the full again. At the end of the day it seemed like his decision would come down to a simple question: would he rather work for a spy agency on his own terms, or be forced into it again at a later date?

An answer to his dilemma was not forthcoming, and he found it difficult to make difficult decision on a morning without a decent dose of caffeine to brighten the senses. He ordered up some breakfast and thought over it more once his basic needs for food and coffee had been met adequately. He couldn’t really leave so suddenly, he owed Waverly more than that. The least he could do would be to entertain the offer, make all the appropriate gestures including going to the office to inform himself some more. If he had any doubts, he could decline or request further reassurances.

With that settled, Napoleon dressed properly and splashed some water on his face, hoping it would brighten him up a little and make him look less like he had spent the entire night awake and not for the usual good reasons he stayed up so long. It had little effect other than dampening his hair, but he did feel better from the act. He used the damp to reshape his hair into something he preferred, and set off, hailing a cab to take him to his destination.

He looked out of the window as they travelled, curious as to where exactly this building was. It had sounded innocuous enough on paper, which made sense, their UNCLE headquarters had been disguised as an office building after all. The UNCLE headquarters had at least looked fairly impressive, and he was looking for a similar building as they drove around, instead he watched with some surprise as the car approached a slightly rundown and small construction.

“Your destination.” The cab driver said, sounding bored. Napoleon paid him and exited the car, feeling deeply suspicious of what lay ahead. He didn’t think it was a trap, it was too blatant for Waverly and he had no motivation to kill or harm Napoleon.

He approached the building with care, equally curious and wary. There was no one at the door to stop him, so he pushed his way through to come to an equally ramshackle reception with a lone woman behind the desk, idly filing her nails. He moved over towards her, slightly perturbed that she didn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention until he stood only a foot away from her.

“Can I help you?” She asked, tone slightly more aggressive than necessary.

“I have an appointment.” Napoleon said uncertainly.

“With who?”

“Alexander Waverly.” The name caused her to change demeanour immediately, going from bored and unhappy to slick and professional.

“Go into the lift, press and hold the alarm button for five seconds.” She told him, face impassive but no longer hostile. “You’ll arrive at a new floor, proceed along the corridor and speak to my colleague.” She explained succinctly. Napoleon felt a sudden deep appreciation for how much more work had been put into this organisations cover, he thanked her for her help and did as she instructed. Pressing the alarm button for five seconds appeared to signal some instruction to the elevator to take it deep it underground. The building may have seemed small on the outside, maybe only three floors visible, but clearly it extended far below the ground.

Once it finally stopped, the doors opened and Napoleon exited to see corridors and rooms that were very different from the reception he had just left. In the reception the wallpaper had been peeling, and the carpet threadbare. In this new part the walls were sleek and metallic, lacking decoration but looking far better for it, the floor was tiled instead of carpeted and well maintained. Everything he saw suggested a well-funded and competent intelligence branch. There was a second reception at the end of the corridor, and he headed in that direction looking curiously at all the unmarked rooms he passed along the way. Each door was numbered but held no label, clearly with the intention of confusing intruders should they arrive. There were also no windows into any of the rooms that might betray their purposes, you could walk into one to find a stash of weapons or a small army waiting, and have equally little idea before the door opened.

“You have a meeting with Mr Waverly?” The receptionist asked as he approached, the first receptionist clearly had some method of communicating downstairs their visitors. He looked around himself for a moment, admiring the architecture that had gone into the building. The reception seemed the central hub from which several corridors branched off from, each appearing identical except for the numbers on the doors.

“Yes, he should be expecting me.” Napoleon replied, giving the redhead a charming smile.

“He is waiting for you in Room 18.” The woman told him and pointed out the corridor he needed to take. He thanked her and travelled down the suggested corridor until he found the designated room. It was a little unnerving opening the door with no idea or expectation of what lay behind it, but when it swung open it revealed a simple office setting, Waverly examining some papers behind his desk.

“Napoleon!” He greeted with a smile. “Do come in and take a seat. I’ll have Jessica bring us some tea.” Napoleon did as he was suggested and sat opposite Waverly. “I have to admit I half-expected you not to arrive.” The older man confessed. “I understand that this might be a little daunting.”

“I almost didn’t.” Napoleon admitted. Jessica, the redheaded receptionist, arrived at this point with a small tray, effectively putting a halt to the conversation. Once she had left again, Waverly resumed speaking as they waited for the tea to brew.

“Perhaps you will allow me to give you a more detailed job description?” At Napoleon’s nod of assent, he continued. “As I have told you, my branch deals with surveillance. I have groups of undercover individuals in both high and low-ranking positions in various companies and organisations. They watch out for and gather intelligence which I then pass on to the relevant governments or groups. It is relatively low risk work for them, but I need someone with your particular set of skills to take on a more active role. They mostly listen and report back, and I occasionally need someone to act on what is discovered and break into homes or businesses to acquire documentation.”

“So essentially you want me to use my skills as a thief to supplement what your other agents discover?” Napoleon asked, and Waverly nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“That is exactly right. It is slightly more dangerous than the work my surveillance operatives perform, but still lower risk than much of the work you did for UNCLE. The people we investigate tend to be those that hire others to perform their dirty work rather than take up arms themselves.” Waverly elaborated. “You would of course work closely with my other agents, I’ve asked a few to come in today to speak to you, should you wish for some further information from a less biased source.”

“Work with a team again?” Any enthusiasm for his potential new role immediately faded with that revelation. Napoleon wasn’t sure how well he could cope with such a thing. “I don’t know Alex, you know how badly that ended last time.”

“I know. And I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could cope. Why don’t you speak to them before you dismiss the idea completely?” Waverly suggested, eyes pleading with him to at least attempt that.

“I’ll speak to them, but I don’t think it will change my mind.” Napoleon warned.

“That’s all I ask.” Waverly told him. “They are waiting in Room 22. Listen to what they have to say, I’ll be by soon enough.” Napoleon nodded and finished his cup of tea before setting it back down. Without another word he left the room, and after regaining his bearings he found the next room he needed to go into.

To his surprise, inside were the couple he had met several nights ago. Lord and Lady Barrow. Now dressed in more casual clothing than when he had last seen them, Lady Barrow was sprawled across a seat looking vaguely discontent while her husband read a newspaper by her side. They both looked up when he walked in, and Lady Barrow beamed at him with the same smile she had given him when he was a ‘guest’ in their home.

“I want my ring back.” She said immediately, her demand causing him to redden. It was rare that he was confronted so boldly about his thieving, usually he was far away from his victim by the time they realised what he did.

“I don’t have it with me.” He said, trying to sound more casual than he felt. “I am sorry about that.”

“No you’re not.” She said plainly. “But I accept your apology.” Her husband had put away his paper and was watching the exchange dispassionately, and Napoleon wondered if they were actually together or not.

“So do you both work for Waverly?” He asked. Lady Barrow nodded cheerily.

“We have done for about a year, we’re really looking forward to working with you.” And indeed she did, the excitement evident from her entire demeanour, she was practically bouncing in her seat. “Waverly told us you were back in town and he was going to ask you to join.”

“I haven’t accepted yet.” Napoleon said, more coldly than he had been intending. Her obvious assumption that he would grated on him, he didn’t like to feel like he was pushed into something. “I don’t work with others.”

“You’ve worked in teams before.” Lord Barrow suddenly spoke up, startling Napoleon. He realised with no small amount of anger that they had clearly been given his file by Waverly, the presumption of it all only making him more determined to reject Waverly’s job offer.

“If you know that,” Napoleon practically spat, the fury rolling off him in waves, “then you should also know that the last time I worked in a team it ended very badly. I lost people that I really cared about, and I will not sully their memories by finding some hollow replacement.” They both shifted uncomfortably at his tirade, the smile dropping from Lady Barrow’s face as Lord Barrow removed the thick rimmed glasses from his face in order to clean them with a handkerchief.

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Cowboy.” Lord Barrow said, his accent suddenly and distinctly Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… that happened. I’d like to point out my original author’s note for this chapter was literally three words “I regret nothing.” However considering some of the backlash, I feel the need to explain that this was always the plan from the very start of the fic, it is not something I have retroactively added. I expect some of you may be disappointed by the turn of events, and I am sorry about that. I’ll explain more of my motivation in the next author’s notes (or if you ask me directly in a comment I will respond) but this one is getting too long now. We are now moving onto ‘Recovery’, most of which was actually written directly after ‘Mission’ and will explain everything.


	20. Recovery I

Napoleon stared at Lord Barrow in shocked disbelief, while the other man stared back at him warily. With the glasses gone and the connection ready to put in place, Napoleon now could only berate himself as he noticed that the man in front of him, looked like a dark haired and bearded Illya. With a bellow of rage, Napoleon launched himself at the other man, his sudden speed and aggression taking him by surprise.

Both tumbled to the floor as the American rained punches and kicks downward while the other did nothing other than try to defend himself. He wasn’t even aware of anything else happening as he focussed all his rage and grief on the target in front of him. He managed to get a few decent hits in before he was forced into a tight chokehold, the advantage of surprise had only lasted for a moment before he was forced into submission by the other man’s vastly superior strength. Napoleon continued to fight like a madman for a moment longer before his helplessness took hold and he crumbled into a boneless heap, the fading white hot fury leaving him without the strength to hold himself up. Lord Barrow/Illya released him once he was satisfied that Napoleon was not going to attack him again and straightened up with a grimace, one hand going to his bruised ribs.

Dazedly, Napoleon looked up at Lady Barrow. Once the fight had begun she had moved over to the other side of the room and now she looked at him warily, as though expecting him to attack her as well. Another face swam through his mind and when he overlaid the two images he found fewer differences than expected.

“Gaby?” He choked out.

“Will you attack me if I say yes?” She sounded slightly frightened, not the fearless woman he remembered. Her appearance had changed drastically too, perhaps more so than Lord Barrow/Illya. He had kept his mountainous frame, but her body shape had changed. She had been slender and athletic before, very much resembling a ballerina in her stance, but time appeared to have added new curves where there had previously been smooth lines. Her fringe was gone, and her dyed blonde hair hung in loose curls around her face rather than straight and pulled back in a neat ponytail like she had normally worn it. Her makeup was different as well, probably to make up for the fact she couldn’t hide most of her face under a beard. She used bright colours and bold eyeliner now instead of the plainer look she had preferred.

“No.” He said simply, he didn’t think he would be capable of it even if he wanted to. His answer seemed to reassure her and she approached cautiously, sending a concerned look over at Lord Barrow/Illya before she helped Napoleon up and onto the couch. She gave a slightly uncomfortable laugh.

“I guess we should have expected such a reaction.” Lady Barrow/Gaby said. “We weren’t sure how to break the news,” she shot another look at Lord Barrow/Illya, “blurting it out like that was probably not the best idea.”

“Would you have done any better?” Lord Barrow/Illya responded, affection tinging his voice as he spoke to her. It was like a half-dreamt memory for Napoleon, he couldn’t quite accept that they were both standing in front of him now, behaving much the same as they had been the last time he saw them.

“You know what, I think we could all use a drink.” Lady Barrow/Gaby announced, Napoleon watched with some confusion as Lord Barrow/Illya raised an eyebrow, and with an eye roll she corrected herself. “I think everyone _except for me_ could use a drink.” He looked more satisfied at that answer, and she busied herself by heading over to a cupboard to reveal several glasses and a large bottle of vodka.

“An excellent idea, Gaby.” A new voice said from the doorway, Napoleon turned towards it instinctively and saw Waverly enter and shut the door behind him. Clearly he had been aware of what was going to happen and who his two workers really were. He heard the sound of pouring, and shortly afterwards Lady Barrow/Gaby made her way around the room handing drinks to all the men. Napoleon knocked his back immediately, the slight burn actually doing something to help him in his current state.

“You’re not dead.” Napoleon said, knowing that his half-question, half-statement was doing nothing more than stating the obvious but still felt the need to say it.

“That is correct.” Gaby said gently, sitting down beside him. He noticed distantly that she was keeping her movement slow and deliberate, the gesture clearly meant to keep him at ease and stop another sudden attack. She was with Illya, of course she would have had to learn such behaviour when he had such a volatile temper.

“How- why?! Have you been working for him this whole time?” He blurted out, looking at all the guilty parties around him, and finding his focus suddenly narrowing on Waverly. How long had he known about this? Had the Englishman known while they grieved together?

“I found Gaby and Illya about a year ago in Scotland.” Waverly said calmly, seeming to sense what Napoleon wanted to know. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“We are sorry about the deception.” Illya said, trying to make himself comfortable on an armchair despite his injuries. “But it was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” Napoleon snapped, feeling the same rage descend over him.

“Yes. Necessary.” Gaby said firmly, her voice recapturing his attention. She looked totally serious. “We didn’t fake our deaths because we thought it would be a funny joke.”

“And that’s what you did? You faked your deaths?” The way she had phrased it made it sound so deliberate, as though that had been the intention from the start. He had spent all that time mourning for nothing.

“Yes.” She flicks her gaze away from his, shame colouring her pink. “I didn’t lie about everything during that call. The Russells really did attack us.”

“The call was a lie?” The revelation staggered him and he nearly sobbed out the words as he realised that those words, what he had thought had been her final words, had been fabricated.

“I’m sorry.” And she looked it, her own eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I thought it would be better than nothing, I didn’t want you to think it was your fault.” He remembered that if had been something she had been surprisingly insistent on that day, with hindsight the call now seemed like it had been rehearsed.

“But why?” He couldn’t think of a reason for why they would have done such a cruel thing. She looked at him uncertainly and turned her gaze to Waverly, seeming to ask something silently. Waverly coughed uncomfortably.

“I did tell him, but it seems to have slipped his mind.” He told Gaby. Napoleon glanced between the two in confusion.

“Told me what?” Gaby looked back at him as he spoke, a sudden confident determination making its way over her features.

“We did it for Eric.” She said, and when he still looked lost she elaborated. “The baby.” She said, suddenly reminding Napoleon about the positive pregnancy test the hospital had released to the FBI. “He’s nearly two now.” She added with a smile, looking over at Illya with a proud look on her face. She sobered suddenly as she looked back at Napoleon. “We could never have stayed together as a family without disappearing like we did, when it came down to it we had to choose between staying or leaving you and having our child in relative safety. I won’t insult you by lying, but that was not the difficult part of the decision.” Napoleon put his head in his hands as he tried to wrap his mind around everything he had just learned.

“Were you lying about Illya getting knocked out?” He asked, referencing the call yet again.

“No, he did get hit with a tranquilizer dart.” She said plainly. “I was also tied to a chair for some time, I kept all those details true.”

“The best lie is one containing as much of the truth as possible.” Napoleon said darkly. “How did you manage to survive then?”

“Super-agent over there had more tricks up his sleeve than we previously had thought.” She said, nodding her head over at Illya with a wide smile as she teased him. “Maybe you should explain?”

“I can do.” Illya spoke up, eyeing Napoleon warily. “If you would like to hear it.”

Napoleon nodded in response, maybe hearing what happened would help clear things up in his mind and allow him to properly understand everything that had occurred. Waverly took a seat, settling in for a long wait.

“I too would like to hear. I never did get the full story of everything that happened.” The Englishman said.

“Then I’ll begin.” Illya replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved the reactions to last chapter, it was exactly what I was hoping for. So going to briefly explain why I wrote the story the way I did. The Mission/Grief transition was left purposefully vague so you could experience the Grief chapters as Napoleon did. Knowing Gaby and Illya were alive would have reduced the effect of all the big moments, and also would have ruined the impact of last chapter’s big reveal. Anywhere we’re now going to be going through a series of flashbacks which I wrote immediately after Mission.


	21. Recovery II

_When the dart had first struck Illya in the chest, he had felt a moment of bemusement as he looked at the smiling face of the woman who had just shot him. It was likely a common tranquilizer. Luckily for him, he had spent years building up a resistance to many tranquilizers and poisons in preparation for such an occasion should it arise. Instinct kicked in and he let himself limply fall to the floor, giving the illusion of unconsciousness. Building up a resistance to particular substances was a useful habit, but only if it was used appropriately. Staying conscious would have only prompted another shooting, and twice the dose may have been more than he was equipped to resist. He needed to lie and wait for the perfect opportunity, then when he struck he would have the element of surprise on his side._

_Illya continued to lie there unresponsive, but closely listening to everything that was happening. He knew the moment that George walked in that he had done the correct thing. If he could succeed in subduing George, it would be easy enough to take down Rose. The tranquilizer gun would be useful in that regard. When George was occupied with questioning Gaby, and Rose was busy doing something else. He took a chance and opened his eyes and glanced around quickly for the gun, and he found it on a nearby table, already loaded with two darts. In his search he felt a sudden rage overtake him as he saw Gaby, tied to a chair and defiant despite the dark mark on her cheek._

_With a huge amount of restraint he closed his eyes again and forced himself to stay calm, rehearsing chess plays in his head until he felt like he had some control again. He continued to stay there, waiting for the opportunity. That control slipped again when he heard the thinly veiled threats Rose and George made to Gaby, but this time he didn’t need to make an attempt to calm down as a casually uttered sentence rendered him too shocked to do anything._

_“It would not be a pleasant way for you to lose that baby.” He heard Rose say, and that one word was the one that stuck with him and struck him with disbelief._

_“She’s pregnant?” George’s voice asked._

_“Yeah I know, stupid right?” The confirmation was almost too much for him to take, especially when Gaby did not bother to protest against the statement. He heard himself mentioned again, and kept very still as he felt all of them turn towards him, and he heard George dismiss him arrogantly. The man was confident that his drug had worked, and for anyone else he probably would have been right but Illya only mildly felt its effects, just enough to know that it was one of the drugs he had trained against._

_When the attention was taken away from him, he stole another quick look to see where all the players were positioned. Satisfied they were all turned away from him and distracted, he began the process of quietly shuffling himself nearer the table that held the tranquilizer gun, and listened with a heavy heart as he heard Gaby attempt to bluster her way out of an attack, in the process providing further evidence of her current condition._

_He heard light footsteps head in his direction, the slight clatter of heels on the floor indicating it was Rose that was moving nearer to him. She seemed to be examining the explosives she had set up near him. He chose this as his moment, and with exceptional speed for someone of his size he rose up. One hand circled around the smaller girl’s neck before she could even gasp in surprise, the other already grabbing the tranquilizer gun and aiming it. George only had the time to look at him in disbelief before Illya shot both darts straight at his chest._

_“Illya!” Gaby cried out in shock. He didn’t get the chance to reply, as Rose had now realised what was happening and was struggling to get out of his chokehold, legs swinging about as she tried to find somewhere to kick that would make him let go long enough for her to do something. Already annoyed, he dropped the gun back on the table and caught the back of her neck with his spare hand._

_“If you don’t stop struggling,” he said not bothering with the fake accent, “I’ll break your neck and end it now.” Anger had deepened his voice and he knew that he sounded lethal, Rose slackened in his grip immediately._

_He dragged her over to a spare chair and shoved her in it, one hand holding her firmly in place as he removed the tie from his neck to secure her to the chair using a complicated and secure knot. He pulled his knife from a holster and began the short process of cutting Gaby off the chair, he eyed the fresh bruises and tear tracks with fury, and nearly destroyed what was left of the chair until he felt Gaby’s hand trembling against his cheek. He took a deep breath and forced himself to regain control._

_“Zip ties in left kitchen drawer, gun in right.” He said shortly, she nodded and left to retrieve the items._

_“You aren’t American.” Rose spat over at him, trying to get free._

_“Correct. I’m Russian.” He said with unearthly calm, finding himself more proud than angry when he saw how hatefully she glared at him after that revelation._

_Gaby returned and handed him the zip ties, the gun in her right hand dangling by her side. With extra gentleness he took her gun wielding hand and lifted it up, removing the safety function. She smiled at him weakly, and with that cue aimed the weapon between their two would-be murderers as Illya busied himself securing their hands and feet with the zip ties, ignoring the slew of racial insults Rose was throwing at him. Under different circumstances, he might have reacted more violently but he felt strangely calm._

_Work completed, he stood back and returned to Gaby. She was still shaking like a leaf, not anything like the fierce and collected agent he knew her to be. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his stillness seemed to communicate itself to her and she shook marginally less._

_“Are you hurt?” He asked slowly. She shook her head._

_“I’m fine, I just-” She changed her mind and switched topic. “How did you-”_

_“I have built up resistance to the most commonly used tranquilizers.” He said with a shrug, the revelation caused her to look at him in disbelief._

_“Didn’t you think that was something you should have told me earlier?” She demanded._

_“Like I told Waverly, I was waiting until it became relevant. It became relevant today.” She growled in anger and hit him in the shoulder without any real malice. “Are you really pregnant?” He asked, he knew the answer but he needed her to tell him. The tears returned and she nodded sharply._

_“I didn’t find out until a week ago. I wanted to tell you but we were so close to finishing the mission.” He shushed her before she could continue her explanation, knowing that the more she talked the closer to hysterical she would become._

_“I understand.” He breathed out a sigh, this would complicate things. The KGB would not be pleased, they would never let him leave to raise a family with her._

_“Are you angry with me?” Gaby asked, misinterpreting his body language._

_“Of course not!” He was quick to reassure her. “I am trying to think of the best course of action.”_

_“We should call the FBI, let them know we’ve caught them.” She made a move to go to the kitchen to get the phone, but he caught her arm before she could get too far. She looked back at him in confusion._

_“That may not be the best idea.” He said, the beginning of an idea starting to form in his head. He looked over their two captives, Rose still ranting despite there being no listeners. Rose was slightly taller than Gaby, but not by much and they had roughly similar body shapes. He could make a similar comparison between himself and George._

_“Illya, what is it?” Gaby asked, she could see the cogs turning in his head but had no idea what he was considering._

_“Do you know what will happen when we return to London?” He asked, he knew his plan was going to be a difficult one to accept, and he would not go ahead with it without her explicit permission._

_“They won’t let us leave, will they? MI6 and the KGB.” She said it with a defeated attitude, she had clearly already given the subject some thought._

_“No they won’t.” He agreed. “And if we run, they will chase us until they find us. I know too much, and if they discover we are involved they will assume you know what I know.”_

_“What do we do then?” She knew him well enough to realise he was going to get to a point._

_“As it stands,” he began cautiously, “we have two options. The first option is we return to our respective agencies, and you lie about the baby’s father. We wouldn’t be able to see each other again, but you would both be safe.”_

_“Fat chance of that.” Rose shouted. “I’ll tell anyone who will listen the truth.” They both ignored her._

_“And Option 2?” Gaby asked, the first option clearly not one she found terribly attractive._

_“It is considerably more difficult.” He said cautiously. “I stand by what I said, the KGB and MI6 would chase us if we disappeared…” He paused. “But not if they thought we were dead.”_

_It took Rose less time than Gaby to realise what he was suggesting, and she bucked about in her chair furiously against the restraints. Seeing the other woman’s reaction, realisation dawned on Gaby and she looked at him in horror._

_“It is a viable option.” He told her. “But I realise that it is a lot to pin on someone’s conscience. I won’t do it if you have doubts.”_

_“How would that even work?” She asked, still trying to understand the plan._

_“The house is rigged to explode.” He said simply. “There would be little left to identify. With a few careful suggestions, anyone who came to investigate would think it was us. We are both foreign agents, they would not waste enough energy to perform further identification processes.” Rose’s shrieks were becoming irritating so Illya paused to retrieve George’s tie to use as a gag._

_“But what about them? Wouldn’t it be suspicious if we all disappeared at the same time?” Gaby said, indicating at the two of them._

_“Not necessarily. We take their belongings, and the car they arrived in, leave a few clues scattered about. Abandon or torch the car near a state border. They were probably planning a getaway to South America, the FBI will expect them to disappear.”_

_She nodded slowly, and looked over at the people he was suggesting they kill to save themselves. Illya had no way of knowing how she felt about the situation, but he had very little sympathy for the two people. He might have been a little more hesitant if Rose had been as innocent as she had seemed, but now he had few qualms about ending her life to protect Gaby and their baby._

_“We will still be in hiding.” She said, the lack of objection suggesting she was slowly coming around to the idea._

_“Yes, but with no one in pursuit.” He explained. “After we’ve led the FBI on a little chase, we could settle down in some village. I have a friend who deals with identities that owes me a favour. We could have a fresh start somewhere.”_

_He knew the idea would be appealing to them both, they could be brand new people in a new location where no one knew about her Nazi relations and no one knew about his father and mother’s shame. She didn’t reply, and to his surprise she walked over to where Rose was sitting. Her words were muffled behind the gag, but she seemed intent on saying something. He watched as Gaby removed the gag with surprising gentleness. Rose seemed too surprised by the gesture to speak up._

_“You had something to say.” Gaby said quietly. “Go on then.”_

_“You won’t kill me.” Rose said confidently. “We were friends, and you don’t have the guts to do it.” Gaby had her back to him so he couldn’t see her face, but whatever had appeared on it rendered Rose mute and suddenly looking uncertain._

_“Your father said something that first time we all had dinner. I remembered it just now. Do you know what that was?” Her voice was surprisingly calm, and Rose could only shake her head. “He told me that a parent would do anything to protect their child, I’ve heard such things before. But I never realised exactly how true it would be until now.” Gaby turned back to Illya, and he saw what had startled Rose so much. She had a small strange smile on her face. “I pick Option 2.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I turn Illya into Wesley from the Princess Bride? Yes I did, and I regret nothing. There was the vaguest hint of this in Mission I when Illya suggested he had other hidden talents. So fun fact, I actually wrote this and the rest of the flashback chapters immediately after completing the writing for Mission. The idea behind it was to try to avoid inconsistencies between Mission and Recovery since this chapter parallels and immediately follows on from Part 1 Chapter 9. Thanks for all the reviews and support guys, it’s been wonderful to read!


	22. Recovery III

_Before Rose could scream again, Gaby’s deft fingers reattached the gag. “What now?”_

_“Remove any jewellery. Search her pockets for any identifying documents.” Gaby nodded and began to work, first unclasping a necklace Rose was wearing. Illya did the same to George, removing a wallet from his pocket and a Rolex from his wrist. He looked regretfully at his own watch and unclasped it, carefully slipping it on to the other man’s wrist. He pulled out his own wallet, looking at the driver’s license that started back at him. He removed the cash from it, and put the wallet in George’s back pocket._

_“Done.” Gaby had Rose’s bag over her shoulder, and dumped a small pile of jewellery into one of the openings. He moved over to her and tenderly brushed her hair out of the way so he could remove the chain she always wore. The dark pearl ring winked at him as it emerged from her dress, he hesitated for a moment, and she took it from him and placed it around the other girl’s neck. Realising where he was going with the plan, she took off the mission engagement ring and put it on Rose’s ring finger. Luckily it fit almost perfectly. Illya watched as Gaby stepped back and critically examined the scene._

_“Help me get their coats off.” She ordered, and he complied without question. They had to briefly untie each of them to do so, but with both Illya and Gaby working together there was little Rose could do to stop them. George was still out cold and thus gave them even less difficulty. Gaby pulled the full length, belted green coat over her dress, and shoved George’s jacket at him. Task completed she disappeared upstairs for a few minutes, only to reappear with a pair of sunglasses and a hat on. Her hair was piled up underneath the hat, and Illya grasped onto what she was trying to do. With the coat and the rest of her features covered, she could be mistaken for Rose. She had brought his cap down too, and he took it from her immediately._

_“I think we’ve done enough.” He said. “All the other evidence will be lost in the explosion.”_

_“Napoleon will be horrified.” Gaby said suddenly. “He’ll blame himself.” He realised with a start of guilt that she was right. Of course it wasn’t Napoleon’s fault, no one could have predicted what was going to happen. But if the listening devices had been left in place, it was likely that he would have been alerted to their situation and could have done something._

_“What do you want to do?” He asked._

_“We’re not changing the plan.” She said immediately. “We still go ahead. But I want to say goodbye to him.”_

_“We can’t go see him.” He told her. “He will still need to think we are dead, if he doesn’t react or grieve then everyone might suspect something is amiss.”_

_“I know.” She paused thoughtfully, holding her fist against her mouth as she tried to come up with a solution. “Would they be able to track down a phone call?”_

_“Perhaps, but it is unlikely they would try if you just tell him where you are. Even if it’s a lie.”_

_“He wouldn’t be expecting me to lie about our whereabouts.” She said softly. “What about the explosives? Can we set them to go off later?” He went to examine them._

_“I should be able to rig them to explode after five minutes.” He said._

_“Right. The neighbours to the left of us are away for a few days. We pick the lock, ring Napoleon’s house, I end the call just before the explosion.” Gaby planned it out, it would not be perfect but hopefully it would be enough. “We make our getaway immediately once I hang up.” He nodded. The plan was sound, he only wondered how the emotional impact would affect her. It would not be easy to sob down a phone to a close friend and lie to him about their impending demise._

_“Are you sure you can do this?” She looked up at him in determination._

_“Yes.”_

* * *

“So that’s how you survived.” Napoleon said slowly, allowing the new information to sink in. “I guess I underestimated you Peril.” Illya shrugged.

“It happens. I did not tell anyone that I had built up such a resistance. I didn’t want it used against me if it became common knowledge.”

“But why would you even do such a thing?” Napoleon asked, still utterly bemused by the whole idea, Illya looked a little sheepish.

“I wanted to be good spy.” He saw Gaby roll her eyes beside him and couldn’t help but feel a slight amusement at what was really a minor point.

“So Rose Russell was involved in her father’s business?” Waverly spoke up, he too had remained quiet but listening intently throughout Illya’s narratives, and with the slight break he felt it a good time to bring it up.

“She was.” Gaby confirmed. “I’m almost glad of it, it certainly made everything a lot easier.” She didn’t have to explain why, they all knew that killing an unarmed person was not an easy thing to do- easy in the execution but not in the aftermath. The emotional impact would have only been worse had Rose been an innocent civilian.

“So you went to Scotland straight afterwards?” Napoleon asked with a frown. “I tried to track down the Russells, and the trail led south.”

“Not quite.” Illya said. “We decided on Scotland later.” With a brief glance around for permission, Illya began the next portion of the tale.

* * *

_With the call made, Gaby and Illya immediately rushed to the red car that they had moved behind the neighbour’s house. Tears from her performance were still streaming down her face, so she did not object when Illya gently pushed her towards the passenger seat. They would switch places once she had calmed down enough. As they drove they heard a final ear-piercing scream from the house they drove away from, Rose had clearly succeeded in removing the gag. The sound caused Gaby to flinch. Illya’s hand squeezed her knee comfortingly, reminding her she had made the right decision. The harsh sound was soon cut off by the roar of the explosion. George and Rose had gone for overkill, and the house burst into flames incinerating everything and everyone inside. Illya slammed his foot on the pedal and the car sped off away from the neighbourhood. He drove like a madman through the streets until Gaby’s hand touched the wheel, he slowed down and stopped._

_“I’ll take over.” She gave him a weak smile. “I’m the better driver.” They switched places quickly, Gaby pushing the sunglasses up so she had a better view of the road. As she moved the driver’s seat around to make herself more comfortable, they heard the sirens approaching. Police cars soon appeared, and without further ado Gaby distracted herself from what they had just done by evading them with ease. Once they had lost their pursuers she drove them to another part of the town where they abandoned the easy to identify car and stole a less conspicuous one._

_In the new car, she drove more carefully. The authorities would still be after the first one, and driving erratically would have only drawn more attention to themselves. As they left the house further and further behind them, Illya found himself relaxing more and more. He knew it would take longer for Gaby. She had killed people in the past, he knew that and had even witnessed it on several occasions, but each time it had been a clear cut case of self-defence. She had returned fire at people shooting at them, she had shoved a knife into someone who had been trying to cut her throat. But she had never killed someone who was unarmed and defenceless at the time. Yes, George and Rose had been perfectly willing to kill them before Illya had subdued them, but they were not actively trying when they blew the house up. It was a small but not unimportant distinction. He knew it would probably hit her once the adrenaline wore off and she had time to consider how much this act had blackened her conscience._

_They stopped briefly at a jewellers during their journey with a dual purpose. The stolen ornaments weighed heavily in their pockets and they took the opportunity to unload it all, pretending to be a couple that had fallen on hard times and now had to sell their valuables. The jeweller’s eyes had been wide and gleaming when the small hoard was dropped in front of him, and they were both confident that he would only remember the items in front of him and not the couple that sold it to him. He might remember that the male half of the couple was exceptionally large, but that in itself was not a problem since the description could also be attributed to George._

_Rose’s jewellery and George’s watch were readily taken by the man, and in exchange their current stockpile of money to live on was not inconsiderably increased, even though Illya suspected the jeweller had seized on their desperate situation and offered them a price far lower than the actual value. Aside from increasing their funds, there was the added benefit of continuing the supposed trail the Russell’s had left behind, it would be yet another clue that the criminal duo had passed through the state. Gaby had to admit it did feel uncomfortable to sell off the possessions of two people they had for all intents and purposes murdered, it made her feel like a common thief. When she had confided in her feelings to Illya, he had looked at her seriously and with one hand on her belly he had reminded her exactly what the money would be used for. That had been some comfort. Gaby had barely noticed when Illya had used some of their profits to buy two new simple gold bands, coming back to awareness when the cold metal ring was slipped over her finger. Illya could see it took her a moment or two to process, but when she looked back at him he could tell she understood. They were having a baby, from now on they would be married in the eyes of all onlookers._

_They kept driving south, under Illya’s advice. They ditched their car several more times, each replacement as equally common and mundane as the previous one. It was as much to lose a potential tail as it was to ensure they had a steady supply of petrol without having to stop to buy any. They also switched places several times to give the other a rest, but they could not continue this forever. Illya stopped the car when he found an appropriately dingy looking motel, several hours drive away from where they had originally set off from._

_“We should get some rest.” He told Gaby. “You need to especially.” He found his eyes falling to her stomach, concealed underneath layers of clothing, and when he raised them again he saw her looking at him with a small smile._

_The man who owned the motel looked at them in boredom, and barked out a price. Illya paid it in cash, adding an extra thirty dollars. The man accepted it with a slightly knowing smile, although Illya was sure the man probably thought they were paying for the privacy of an extramarital affair, rather than the secrecy of fugitives. The room was pretty disgusting, but they couldn’t afford to stay anywhere nicer and risk being noticed. Gaby didn’t seem to care, and without any ceremony she collapsed on the bed and immediately fell asleep._

_While she slept, Illya took out the wad of cash he kept in his pocket. Rose and George had brought plenty of cash with them, probably for the same purpose as he and Gaby now had. It would be more than enough to get them to Argentina where his friend was staying. He hoped Natasha would be willing to help them, he had already dumped Rose and George’s wallets (minus the cash) in a state they had driven through, but they would need identities in order to get passage to Europe. He had not yet discussed where they would settle to Gaby, but their best chance would be somewhere in Western Europe. There was the downside that they were more likely to be recognised, but since no one was going to be looking for them the benefits considerably outweighed the risks._

_“Illya…” Gaby called out with a yawn, interrupting his thoughts._

_“Yes?”_

_“Stop thinking so much, you’ll hurt yourself.” He felt his lips twitch up in amusement. “Come to bed.” One of her arms was outstretched in invitation, he climbed onto the bed and pulled her close, tucking her head under her chin. She wrapped her arms around him and soundly fell asleep again, her breathing a hypnotic lullaby that slowly lured him into joining her. Nightmares of them burning up in the explosion populating his sleep, with the exception of a dream of him and Gaby in a small cottage, a gurgling bundle smiling up at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet history when I wrote these flashbacks was full of pregnancy information. Hope you guys have been enjoying the whole filling in the gaps part of the story, and I hope it is believable. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve now stated that the story is going to be 29 chapters long, I’ve known this for a while but wanted to keep it quiet until all the big reveals were made. We’re nearing the end!


	23. Recovery IV

_Crossing the border between the USA and Mexico was surprisingly less difficult that Illya had expected. Although he soon realised that most of the effort was concentrated on stopping people from Mexico entering the country, and little was focussed on those actively trying to get to Mexico. Once out of the USA, they could breathe a little more freely but he still refused to allow them to become complacent. They continued their pattern of stealing cars and ditching them, but at a less frequent pace. This time allowing days to pass in the same vehicle._

_His Spanish was good enough to let him understand others and to communicate his own desires back to them. They stopped by several shops along their journey to Argentina, picking up fresh clothes and resources, and paying probably more than the actual worth of the items._

_“Who’s your friend?” Gaby asked when they were starting to near their destination. “Can he be trusted?”_

_“She.” Illya corrected. “And yes. She’s ex-KGB, but low-level so they allowed her to leave after she was injured enough to no longer be useful in the field. She has no love for them, or for Russia. She’ll keep our secret.” He didn’t tell her that he also had enough dirt on Natasha to make the woman think twice about giving him up, he could make things very difficult for her if he was captured based on information she gave them._

_“Just a friend?” Gaby asked sceptically, and Illya became aware of a slight redness creeping up his neck._

_“We were together for a year.” He admitted. “It ended amicably.” It was the truth, he had lost interest and Natasha had never had any in the first place._

_“So we’re going to visit your ex-girlfriend in the hope that she is still fond enough of you to provide us with brand new identities and not tell anyone we stopped by?” Her voice was tinged with doubt._

_“You’ll understand when you meet her.” He said simply._

_It took them longer than strictly necessary to reach Argentina, not that Illya was about to complain. Once they were certain that no one could possibly have followed them the entire distance, exhaustion had struck Gaby with a vengeance. They could no longer travel as much each day, and at time they had to spend days in one place so she could recover. Her morning sickness continued, and seemed to get worse if anything else. New symptoms also started to appear along with the more obvious ones, she complained often of achiness and started to snap at him without little reason or provocation. It reminded him of her attitude towards him in that first week they had known each other, only worse._

_Eventually they did arrive, and once Illya had found them a new car they immediately set off for Natasha’s home. He hoped she had not moved recently, the address he had procured was a little over a year old. He had to ask directions a few times, but they soon found themselves at the house with the address he had memorised. There was no answer at the first knock, so with some worry he tried again. The woman who answered was not Natasha, she looked like a local so with a friendly smile he had asked after Natasha in Spanish. The reply was a short, suspicious nod quickly followed by the door slamming in their faces._

_“That wasn’t very friendly.” Gaby noted drily._

_“That was not Natasha.” He pointed out. He raised a hand to knock again, but before he could the door swung open again, revealing a beautiful blonde woman. “Natasha.” He greeted cordially._

_“Illya, what the fuck are you doing here?” She rattled off quickly in Russian, glaring behind him in suspicion at Gaby._

_“Requesting help.” He replied in the same language. “I’m dead and my woman is pregnant.” Natasha rolled her eyes at his melodrama and opened the door wider to let them both in._

_“You finally left the KGB? I assume from what you said that you faked your death, I hope you did a decent job of it.” She continued in Russian as she led them to a brightly decorated sitting room, indicating the couch for them to sit on._

_“There was a large explosion and two bodies.” He said. “I think they’ll be convinced.” He looked beside him to see Gaby giving him a pointed look. “Can we speak in English? Gaby doesn’t understand Russian.”_

_“Of course.” Natasha switched languages easily, and looked at Gaby with slightly more interest than previously. “My apologies, I hadn’t realised Illya had expanded his horizons enough to befriend a non-Russian.” She said to Gaby._

_“No offence taken.” Gaby replied. “Illya said you would help us?”_

_“Within reason. After three years of being together I owe him as much.” A frown crossed Gaby’s face, and she turned to Illya._

_“Three years? You said one.” She said accusingly._

_“Both are technically correct.” Natasha interrupted, accepting the grateful smile Illya sent in her direction. “I suppose he didn’t tell you about my preferences? You saw Martina at the door didn’t you? She’s my partner.” Gaby’s expression was almost comical, and without caring about the scandalous revelation, Natasha ploughed on. “Illya and I were properly together for a year before he found out, he took the news surprisingly well, and we pretended to be together for a further two more years until I was able to leave the KGB.”_

_“It was a good arrangement.” Illya added. “Natasha had a suitable excuse if anyone started to become suspicious of her, and I could work in peace without being pestered by other female agents.”_

_“Mostly without being pestered.” Natasha said with a grin. “You remember Eva?”_

_“How could I forget?” He said drily. “You punched her and she never came near me again, even after you left.” Natasha laughed loudly in response, and even Gaby found herself smiling at the exchange she could easily imagine._

_“What do you need?” Natasha asked once the moment had passed, Illya returned to business._

_“New identities, good ones. We’ll be moving somewhere, hopefully to stay permanently.”_

_“So you need something that will pass all tests.” She replied thoughtfully. “Any ideas where you’ll be going?” Illya glanced over at Gaby cautiously._

_“We’ve not discussed it yet.”_

_“Get discussing then. You can stay with us for a while. I’ll set up a spare room.” Natasha promptly disappeared, only for Martina to return to the room with a shy smile, and bearing two plates of food. They both thanked her in Spanish, and were soon left alone again._

_“Do you have any ideas where we should go?” Gaby asked him._

_“I do. I have another accent which could prove useful.”_

_“What accent?”_

_“An English one.” At her look of alarm he explained further. “I was learning it in case it became useful, I’ve not actually had to use it on a mission yet. But it’s pretty good.”_

_“We can’t go to England though,” she reasoned, “there’s too big a chance we’ll be recognised.” He agreed._

_“There are other English-speaking countries where it might be handy. Ireland, Wales, Scotland. There are some quiet and fairly isolated towns in northern Scotland that would be good for our purposes. I think it’s a given that we stay away from big cities.”_

_“It will be strange.” Gaby admitted with a small smile. “I’ve always stayed in cities.”_

_“It will be quite different.” He acknowledged._

_“Waverly always spoke well of Scotland.” She said thoughtfully. “Mostly Edinburgh, I think he said he had family there.”_

_“We wouldn’t be able to stay in Edinburgh.” Illya reminded her._

_“I know, but the rest of the country sounds nice too. We have to pick somewhere, why not there?”_

_With their destination chosen, Natasha set to work building their new identities for them. They had decided to pretend to be an English couple that moved north after a fallout with their families. Illya had figured that if they stayed somewhere far from the border and quite isolated, few would question their story or imperfect accents. He had already begun giving Gaby lessons in how to change the way she spoke English so she would blend in slightly better, and they had prepared an excuse if someone did notice anything foreign about her._

_By the time Natasha had set up everything for them, and they had arranged flights to get themselves to Scotland, Gaby’s morning sickness had finally faded and much to Illya’s wonderment there was now a small bump visible on her abdomen. They had both already been subjected to a hair colour change, Natasha insisting that it would at least help them hide a little better and avoid recognition while they passed through the big airports. They would have to stop briefly in London to wait for a flight to Edinburgh Airport, and if they were going to be recognised it would be then. Thus Illya had gained dark hair and Gaby had turned blonde._

_They still had plenty left from George and Rose’s savings, mostly because Natasha had refused any form of payment for their stay or for her help. And as a result they had more left over than Illya had budgeted for, and there should have been about enough for them to live on for a few months once they arrived at their destination. They had both bid a warm farewell to Martina and Natasha, the latter embracing each of them and wishing them the best of luck and all the happiness in the world._

* * *

_Armed with their new identities, Illya and Gaby began the first of many flights they would take to eventually land at the airport in Edinburgh. Boarding the first flight from Buenos Aires was slightly nerve wracking as it was the first test of whether their new passports, both of which stated they were citizens of the United Kingdom, passed scrutiny. To their relief they faced no problems, and neither did they at any of the following airports. In London they had waited impatiently for their final flight, trying to avoid appearing jumpy or nervous._

_As quickly as they were able, they took a train from Edinburgh and headed deeper into the country. It might have been easier to follow their usual method and steal a car, but they each agreed to try to avoid attracting suspicion and travel more legally. Once they had escaped most of the major cities, they felt themselves relax as they enjoyed watching the country scenery go by._

_“We will have to stop somewhere soon.” Illya noted, already practicing his new accent._

_“We should probably find some work before we decide to settle anywhere.” She said, resting her head against his shoulder. “No point finding somewhere to live if we can’t get any income. We can stop by villages looking for garages and seeing if I can get anything, you’re a little more versatile than I am.”_

_“If that’s what you want to do we will do it.” He said solemnly._

_“I want to work.” She told him. “Obviously I’ll have to stop when I’m a little further along.” Her hand dropped to her belly. “But I would like to work until then.”_

_“You could work again after the baby is born.” He said, one of his hands moving on top of hers. “If you wanted.”_

_“You wouldn’t mind?” She asked._

_“Would you care if I did?” His wide smile revealed that he was joking, and she hit him lightly._

_“It would.” She said defensively, even as he raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that, I value your opinion.”_

_“Seriously,” he said, voice free of mirth, “all I want is for you to be happy. If you are happy stuck underneath a car all day, I won’t stop you.”_

_They followed Gaby’s suggestion, and stopped by each village along their journey searching for a garage that needed another mechanic. They were rebuffed at each one, mostly because there were no vacancies but Illya suspected a few of them refused out of disbelief that Gaby would be competent at the job because of her gender. They were close to losing hope when they stopped by another village, Illya waited outside as Gaby went into yet another garage to make enquiries. He half-expected to see the same dejected look on her face when she returned but instead she flung herself at him in excitement._

_“New vacancy.” She said between kisses. “The owner will let me work there for a trial period until I can prove my worth.”_

_“We should find a guesthouse then.” He suggested. “We can look for somewhere more permanent once they realise you’re an excellent mechanic.”_

_They stayed at the guesthouse for about of week, Illya exploring the local area and assessing it for safety and other similar concerns while Gaby spent her days at the garage, getting her hands dirty and impressing her new boss with her extensive knowledge. From what she told him, she seemed to get on very well with the owner of the garage, it was a small business but after his son had moved further south he had lost his only aid. Gaby’s offer had come at just the right time, and as such he had been willing to overlook her lack of references._

_“You both still looking for somewhere permanent to stay?” Mr Dunn had asked when he had come to meet Gaby at the garage once her shift had ended._

_“Yes.” Illya replied._

_“John Young is looking for someone to rent a cottage he owns, would you like me to put in a good word for you?”_

_“That would be fantastic, thank you.” Gaby had said enthusiastically._

_A week later they moved into the cottage. It was small, but the rent was very reasonable and it was big enough for both of them and with enough space for a cot. Illya had been given the task of filling the house, and went about his new job efficiently, eventually resulting in a very pleasant place for them to live in. Now that they were settled permanently, he went about trying to find work for himself. His extensive knowledge of languages landed him a position at the local school._

_Illya’s job as a languages instructor had come with some unforeseen benefits. He had always been deeply fond of books, in particular those from his home country, and when he realised that it would not be out of place for him to won a copy of ‘War and Peace’ in its original language, he slowly began assembling a small library of English and foreign language books. Hidden among Shakespeare and Victor Hugo and Dante Alighieri he slipped a few texts in German, more for her benefit than his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Illya and Gaby have now reached Scotland, next chapter Gaby has her baby. Hope you guys enjoyed!


	24. Recovery V

_When they had first arrived, Gaby had mostly been able to conceal her pregnancy by wearing loose clothes, but as time passed it became more and more difficult for her to hide it. And after only a few more weeks it became obvious to all but the most naïve of observer. It was a closely knit community, and they were soon on friendly terms with almost everyone who lived there, and much to everyone’s amusement Gaby seemed stubbornly determined to not acknowledge to anyone else her condition. Illya almost wished she would, since he was the only one that officially knew he had to bear the brunt of all her complaints._

_“Is there a particular reason she is just pretending to have gained weight?” Mr Dunn asked Illya one day, when she was safely out of earshot. He had only been able to shrug and request he move Gaby onto lighter duties, and reduce her pay if necessary. “I’ll see what I can do.” He had replied with a smile._

_Life for them in the village was simple, but not boring. There was plenty of excitement to have, even with just the seemingly daily changes to Gaby’s condition. As her waistline expanded, the thought of fatherhood became a less distant idea and more something that seemed possible. He found himself excited to meet the little person he and Gaby had created, although the thought still came with a small measure of sadness. Despite her frequent mood-swings, she could still read him fairly easily and she noticed his slight conflict when they were discussing the rearrangement of furniture in order to figure out where they could place the cot._

_“What is it Illya?” With no one searching for them, they had decided to allow themselves the use of their own names when in private._

_“It is nothing.” He insisted, only to face her glare._

_“Don’t lie to me. Something is bothering you. Tell me.”_

_“Thinking of the baby makes me remember my father.” He admitted. “He’s my last relative and I feel like I’ve abandoned him. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”_

_“Oh Illya.” She moved closer to embrace him, trying to get as close as she could before her bump got in the way._

_“It is stupid of me.” He said, hugging her back. “Even if you hadn’t become pregnant, nothing really would have changed. He would still be in the gulag regardless.”_

_“Exactly. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about.” Her touch was a great comfort to him, but it did nothing to change how he felt._

_The next day, a hand carved wooden cot appeared outside the door by the time they both returned from their jobs. The note attached simply said 'You're not fooling anyone Mrs Cook”, Gaby had promptly burst into tears and Illya had spent the next hour moving things around the house until she was happy with the cot’s placement. She stopped with the denials after that, and finally allowed a local former midwife to examine her._

_Gaby continued to work at the garage until she was physically incapable of continuing due to her size. Mr Dunn had sent her home one day and told her not to come back until she had delivered the baby. She had not been pleased when Illya had seen her that evening, and had ranted for quite some time about how she was not an invalid. He had managed to keep a straight face as he agreed and then tried to distract with the strudel he had attempted to make when Mr Dunn had warned him in advance of what he was planning to do. The sweet treat had the effect he wanted, and she had nearly attacked him in her haste to get it._

_Eventually the time came for their child to make its impromptu exit from its warm and safe home, Illya found the concept terrifying when Gaby went into labour. All the worst case scenarios came to mind, including those where both Gaby and the baby didn’t make it. The midwife had taken one look at his ashen face and immediately accused him of thinking her incompetent. He had stuttered out objections to that statement and been told to sit down and support his wife, he had obeyed with a speed that Gaby, in a brief moment of respite from the pain, found hilarious. Of course her amusement had not lasted long, and she was soon screaming blue murder at anyone that would listen, not seeming to notice when she abruptly switched to German. The midwife had given him an odd look at that, something that he couldn’t help but be bemused by. Gaby had been saying shockingly outrageous things, and it was the language change that bothered the midwife. Of course he quickly realised that the revelation that Gaby spoke German fluently would be a problem that neither of them had anticipated._

_His worry became a distant thought when a screaming bundle was carefully placed on Gaby’s chest. The noise immediately quieted and silence reigned for the first time in what felt like hours. Both Illya and Gaby’s attention were fixed on the being that had been the driving force for so much change in their lives._

_“A healthy baby boy.” The midwife announced._

_“He looks just like you.” Gaby said in awe. “Only so much smaller.” Illya had to agree with her assessment. They both remained utterly mesmerised while the midwife continued with her work._

_“All finished.” She eventually announced, and delivered a short speech reminding Gaby of several things she needed to remember. “I’ll stop by in a few days to see how you’re both doing. Mr Cook, would you escort me out?” He nodded, and after casting a final glance back at Gaby and the baby he followed her out of the room, his previous panic returning to him._

_“Your wife isn’t British, is she?” The midwife asked as she packed her things._

_“No.” Illya admitted._

_“Well she’s too young to have been a Nazi.” The midwife noted, and her eyes softened as she saw how worried he looked. “I’ve heard many birthing confessions, it comes with the job. And I’ve also seen enough couples to recognise one trying to make a new start. No one else will hear about this, I swear.”_

_“Thank you, we appreciate it.”_

_Once the midwife had left, Illya immediately returned to his wife and child. Gaby looked exhausted but happy, the still unnamed baby still resting in her arms. He moved to sit besides her, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her slightly damp forehead._

_“Do you want to hold him?” She asked, offering the bundle towards him with exceeding care. He nodded soundlessly and took the baby from her, her hands gently guiding him until he held the baby properly._

_“He’s so small.” Illya noted, nudging the baby’s hand with one finger. His finger was about the same size as the tiny clenched fist. “Have you thought of any names?”_

_“Eric.” She said eventually. “I think it’s appropriate. There are German and Russian versions of it.” She paled considerably as she realised something. “Oh god. Did I start speaking in German at some point?”_

_“You did, but I’ve spoken to the midwife and she isn’t going to tell anyone.”_

_“I can’t believe I did something so careless.” She said angrily, and quietened immediately as Eric made a distressed noise in response to her raised voice. “I could have put us all in danger.” She whispered, looking at them both with wide alarmed eyes._

_“But you didn’t.” He said reassuringly. “Everything is going to be fine.”_

_“I love you.” She said suddenly, and flushed pink. “I know I don’t say it often enough, but I do.”_

_“I love you too.” He said in return. “And now we have someone else for us to love.”_

* * *

_Months passed, and the only major thing of note that occurred were the various stages of Eric’s development. The day after the birth, Illya had gone out and spent a hefty portion of his pay check on a camera, not wanting to miss one moment of his son’s growing up. Eric changed day by day, and his passing resemblance to Illya only strengthened as time went on._

_Gaby had initially planned on staying at home for several months, to continue looking after Eric. And Mr Dunn had appeared quite happy to allow this, until he had made an impromptu visit to the house and a burst of sentimentality had attacked. Before he could give it too much thought, he had offered to let her bring Eric to work with her. When she had looked at him in stupefied confusion, he had gruffly explained that work was starting to pile up and he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of training another mechanic. She had kissed his cheek as a thank you, and wisely made no comment when he turned the colour of beetroot._

_For a time things seemed nearly perfect. True, they both were sleep deprived but they were happy. Gradually their paranoia faded away into near complacency as they settled into their lives together. If they were being perfectly honest with themselves, they did miss their former lives a little. Not enough to ever consider returning, but it was a slightly difficult adjustment to make the transition from an exciting life of danger and variety to the more mundane existence of family living. They reminisced often of past missions, Illya even disclosing some of his pre-UNCLE adventures, and in particular spoke fondly of Napoleon._

_Illya wondered what had become of their American friend, and of UNCLE itself. He doubted the organisation was still functioning, the KGB would have withdrawn their support as soon as they lost their best agent, and without Russia being involved UNCLE was virtually pointless as a diplomatic exercise. It was therefore likely that Waverly had returned to MI6 and Napoleon to the CIA. He had voiced his opinion to Gaby one evening, and she had given him a grim look._

_“Napoleon would have hated to go back.” She said. “But at least his sentence has an end date, as long as he behaves.” Illya snorted at that, and was punished for it with a light clip to the head. Eric gurgling in amusement at witnessing his parent’s slightly violent interaction._

_“I wonder what he’ll do when his time with the CIA ends.” He said, pushing a spoonful of gloop into the nine month old child’s open mouth. She shrugged and stirred the pot containing that evening’s dinner._

_“I don’t know. He was always so unpredictable. I imagine he would probably keep travelling around, he doesn’t seem to the type to settle in one place.”_

_“That’s true.”_

_“I sometimes think about what would happen if we met again.” Gaby said, absently using a tissue to wipe Eric’s face. “I know it’s impossible. He would never turn up somewhere like this. But I still think about it sometimes.”_

_“I do too.” He admitted, picking up the child from his high chair before he could start screaming to be let out. “I think he would be angry.”_

_“You mean, you think he would be angry with me.” Gaby pointed out bluntly. “I was the one that knowingly and willingly lied to him.”_

_“I think he would understand, once he knew why.” Illya would repeat it a thousand time over if it granted him this same result. A beautiful and fierce woman looking at him with love and affection, and the trusting blue eyes of a child that shared his face._

_“I think so too.”_

_As it was, they did spot a familiar face a few weeks after that conversation. Only it wasn’t Napoleon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s how Waverly found them, and now we’re going to get the story of how they ended up in England. Only five chapters to go. EDIT: I accidentally had Recovery VI in this chapter, I've now removed it but if you read it prior to the removal you may get a strong sense of deja vue in Recovery VI.


	25. Recovery VI

_The day their carefully constructed lives fell apart was not a particularly normal day for them. For Gaby it had begun more or less as all other days, she had given her two boys a quick kiss before setting off for the garage early, prepared for a long morning. Their little town was holding a small festival to celebrate the day it was founded. It was quite a minor event, more for the inhabitants than for anyone else, but still some non-residents travelled to the town to enjoy the festivities. Their landlord, who owned many of the houses in the area, had been particularly looking forward to the event. After only a small amount of pestering, John had admitted to Gaby that one of his old friends was going to be stopping by for an unexpected visit._

_The event would be going on all day, and Mr Dunn in his unending kindness had offered her the afternoon off to enjoy it. Illya already had the day off, and immediately used the opportunity to take Eric around all the little stalls and attractions. As always seemed to happen when they were both left along for too long, by the time Gaby found them they were both messy, probably as a result of the small tub of ice cream Illya was coaxing Eric into trying. She had only rolled her eyes when Illya had started trying to give her excuses, secretly pleased that at least it would not be up to her to clean it all up. With both of them working long hours, they had divided up the housework between them, and washing came under Illya’s territory._

_Their relationship now was yet another new experience, it still held some of the domesticity of their last mission: Gaby still cooked but that was now her only job, Illya had taken over the cleaning. But it was less restrictive than their mission, Gaby could now pursue some of her own goals instead of being stuck in the house all day. What had disappeared was their independence. On the mission and at their London flat they had mostly been free to leave the house on an evening, having a child firmly put a stop to all evening excursions. Eric’s presence was not the inconvenience it may have seemed on paper, yes he was still a baby and did restrict their activities, but it all seemed worth it. Nights out at restaurants might have been scrapped, but they were replaced by outings to the park, and story time at night, and playdates with other young families in the area._

_It was surprising how quickly they had come to be friendly with so many people. Gaby and Illya had always feared that their secrecy and vague comments about their past would alienate them from many others, but in a group of parents the past was rarely brought up. Instead they commiserated the long nights and lack of sleep, and celebrated mundane little occurrences like first words and jokes about parenting techniques. They spotted many of their fellow parents as they wandered about, stopping to greet each friendly smiles._

_Gaby was grumbling good-naturedly to one such couple about Illya’s nightly habit of reading bedtime stories to Eric in every language but English, when she suddenly stopped mid-speech as she noticed something over the woman’s shoulder. She had snapped back into reality soon after, and her first instinct had been to leave as soon as possible._

_“Honey,” she said to Illya suddenly, hoping she managed to disguise the panic, “we should probably get back and feed Eric.”_

_He was smart enough not to question her, and they bid a brief farewell to their companions before hastily leaving the area. Illya did not question her until they arrived at home, hefting a disgruntled Eric up who had not been best pleased to leave the place with all the exciting things to look at._

_“Gaby, what is it?”_

_“I saw Waverly.” She said, he stilled suddenly his grip seeming to tighten around their son._

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes. I don’t know if he saw us. Why the hell would he be here? He must have found out we were alive.” She managed to deliver in panicked stream of outspoken thoughts. Seeing her state, Illya put down Eric into his playpen and moved over to calm her down, the weight of his hands on a shoulder had more effect than empty platitudes._

_“What do you want to do?” Illya asked her, and she immensely appreciated his acceptance of her sighting. Some might have not believed her, and would have thought her ravings to be the remains of an understandable paranoia._

_“We should leave.” She said after a moment, hating the idea even as she said it. She didn’t want to uproot their lives on the off chance that Waverly had spotted and recognised them, but it was more important that they protect their child_

_“This is my fault.” Illya murmured quietly. “I should never have suggested we settle here.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped. “There’s no point worrying about that, we need to think about where we are going to go.” She stepped forward and took his face into her hands, looking at him with the utmost seriousness. “Waverly seeing us is no one’s fault, neither of us could have imagined he would come here.”_

_They both froze when they heard a sound on the door, Illya immediately dove into a nearby cupboard and emerged with a gun._

_“Where did you get that?” Gaby hissed. “Has it just been hiding under the sink this whole time?” He didn’t answer and merely clicked off the safety, moving into a position behind the door where he could easily shoot the next person to walk in. Putting aside her concern in favour of a far more pressing worry, Gaby took a deep breath and opened the door, barely even surprised to see Waverly standing before her._

_“Miss Teller.” He inclined his head by way of greeting, speaking as though the last time they had seen each other was the previous week rather than over a year past. “I suppose Mr Kuryakin is aiming a gun at my head, could you ask him to lower it please? I’m not here for a fight.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Illya comply but still not replacing the safety back on his gun._

_“Come in.” Gaby said simply, making sure to move so that shielded Eric from their guest’s gaze._

_“Kuryakin.” Waverly nodded at the still armed former KGB agent. “It is good to see you both in such good health, although I have to admit to being somewhat surprised to find you both still among the living.” Neither responded, causing the atmosphere to thicken with tension. Waverly barely seemed to notice. “I suspect the bodies we recovered from the wreck of the house were…?”_

_“George and Rose Russell.” Gaby replied, her voice clear and without guilt for once when pronouncing those names. She no longer punished herself for her actions, as far as she was concerned the ends had actually justified the means._

_“I thought so. It’s rather a shame, we gave you quite a decent send off. More than they deserved at least.” He said conversationally. “The funeral was admittedly not very well attended, but I’m sure you would have appreciated it. Agent Solo was inconsolable.”_

_“How did you find us?” Illya asked gruffly, ignoring Waverly’s mostly irrelevant prattle._

_“Believe it or not, I wasn’t actually looking for you.” Waverly revealed. “I thought you had died in that explosion, I was only here visiting a friend of mine. A rather startling coincidence I must admit, but a coincidence it was. It was very disconcerting spotting you at the fair, well spotting Kuryakin at least.” He paused a moment to critically examine Illya’s towering frame. “You really need more than a change in hair colour as a disguise.” He suggested, sounding a little disappointed in him. “I told your companions I knew you, and asked where you lived.”_

_“Are you going to turn us in?” Gaby demanded, her unintentionally loud voice startling the happily playing child behind them to tears. Illya pressed the gun into her hand, and gave his attention to the child, missing the startled look that crossed Waverly’s face. Gaby could practically hear him to the mathematics in his head as he estimated Eric’s age._

_“Of course,” he said eventually, “I had quite forgotten. With hindsight I should have been a little more suspicious of the… convenience of your deaths, you certainly had the motivation to make a sudden disappearance.”_

_“You haven’t answered my question.” Gaby noted aloud, her hand wrapping tightly around the gun. It would not be an elegant solution, if Waverly died suddenly at the same time as a local couple disappeared there would be a great many questions._

_“I have no intention of doing so,” he said simply, “I have nothing to gain by it. If anything, I would be punished for not taking further pains to correctly identify the bodies. The KGB would be particularly displeased at my incompetent, they might even accuse me of a conspiracy.”_

_He spoke frankly and honestly about his situation, putting them both more at ease than if he had insisted it was out of respect and admiration for them that he would not reveal their survival. After a moment of hesitation, Gaby replaced the safety and set the gun aside._

_“I’ll make us all some tea.” She suggested,_

_“How very British of you.” Waverly said almost approvingly, and took a seat at the small dining table. Illya still watched him warily as Gaby pottered around the kitchen, collecting mugs and heating the kettle._

_“Are you working for MI6 again?” Illya asked._

_“Yes, UNCLE was dismantled shortly after you both left.” He phrased delicately. “I’m now head of a surveillance department.”_

_“And Napoleon?” Gaby asked, placing steaming mugs in front of each of them. It had been a subject she and Illya had wondered about since they had faked their deaths._

_“He is well.” Waverly confirmed. “Still working for the CIA, I believe he has under a year left of his time with them. I’ve kept an eye on him, he’s been well behaved for a while now. It seems unlikely the CIA will be able to extend his sentence.” Gaby and Illya shared a pleased look. “Have you both been keeping busy?”_

_“More or less.” She agreed. “Eric is probably the most excitement we have nowadays.”_

_“How old is he?” Waverly asked, smiling at the child as he stared at the unfamiliar person._

_“Ten months.”_

_“He looks like you, Kuryakin.” Waverly noted, not missing the pride that lit up the father’s face. “I imagine it must be difficult for you both not to have been able to share him with your own families.” His words niggled at Illya._

_“Have you heard any news about my father?” He asked, and Waverly’s expression turned grave. He barely needed to hear what the older man had to say, he could already guess what news was to be delivered._

_“He passed away quite recently, I’m sorry to say.” Illya gave a perfunctory nod in response, Gaby watched him with some concern, wary of how he would react. He had not had an episode in so long, she worried that this revelation might set him off, but he still looked calm._

_Sensing this was not a topic to linger on, Waverly changed the subject to their former UNCLE co-workers, telling them what he knew about what had happened to them. It was nice to hear, especially for Gaby who had tended to socialise more than Illya. His detachment from everyone except her and Napoleon had mostly been a product of his knowledge that UNCLE would not last forever and it was best not to make any attachments. Napoleon and Gaby had been the ones too stubborn to allow him to apply this to them as well._

_Long after the mugs had emptied and gone cold, Waverly took a regretful look at his watch and announced that he had to leave, he had already spent too long at the house with them. Gaby had felt surprisingly sad to see him go, it have been an unexpected pleasure to see a face from their shared past and she only wished he could have stayed longer. They walked him to the door to bid him farewell, and watched him leave from the doorway._

_“I’m sorry about your father.” Gaby said once he had disappeared from sight, she lifted up a hand to his cheek and watched as he relaxed into her touch._

_“I lost my father a long time ago. “ He said, echoing her own response from years past. She pressed her lips to his sweetly, her gesture a chaste but loving reminder that he now had another family to love and cherish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s Waverly entering the picture. Hope you’ve enjoyed so far! EDIT: I hadn't noticed but when I posted the previous chapter it also contained the entirety of this chapter. When I was editing chapters some of the chapters exceeded my usual word limit so I moved the contents into new chapters. This means that the latter half of Recovery V became Recovery VI (only I forgot to delete the latter half of Recovery V). I have rectified the issue now, but if you read Recovery V before the fix you may get a serious sense of deja vu.


	26. Recovery VII

“I’m confused.” Napoleon said. “If you didn’t turn them in,” he said turning to Waverly, “why do they still work for you?” He paused as a horrifying realisation hit him. “You’re not blackmailing them are you?” He demanded. Illya and Gaby both scoffed at the suggestion, immediately making Napoleon feel stupid for asking.

“Good God, Solo, what kind of man do you think I am?” Waverly asked, sounding offended.

“My apologies.” Napoleon said, regaining his composure. “I’m just struggling to understand why Gaby and Illya are working for you when everything parted so amicably.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to explain.” Waverly suggested. “My part does not take too long, and I’m sure Lord Barrow can continue on when I am finished.” He nodded at Illya.

“Go ahead.” Napoleon said, pouring himself another drink and settling in for another hour or so of explanations.

“After I left Scotland, I had no intention of returning.” Waverly began “But when I arrived in London, a rather unexpected opportunity fell into my lap. I was contacted by an old family friend, the original Lord Barrow.”

* * *

_“I’m dying.” The Lord Barrow said eventually, after a long pause of silence._

_“Oh?” Waverly said, unsurprised but sympathetic._

_“Cancer. They think I might have year to live.” He digested this new information with a short nod. The report he had been given had detailed that his Lordship had been making preparations for his death, but did not list the cause or timeline._

_“My condolences.”_

_“I don’t need condolences, I need purpose.” Waverly’s eyebrows quirked up, perhaps the two men wanted the same thing. He had of course arrived with his own agenda, but he hadn’t realised that the other man might have one as well._

_“Is that something I might be able to help with?”_

_“Isn’t that why you’re here?”_

_Waverly smiled and re-evaluated his opinion of Lord Barrow, he was no fool that was for certain. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, causing the other man to huff a laugh that turned into a hacking coughing fit. Waverly went to pour the man a brandy as he patiently waited for him to finish, and as he returned from the decanters he spotted the tell-tale scarlet stain on a handkerchief which was hastily tucked away. The man took the offered drink and drank a decent amount, wiping his mouth afterwards._

_“It has come to my attention that I am going to die without leaving a shred of good behind me. I have no family left, and no legacy to leave behind.” Barrow said. “I have wasted my life.” Waverly smiled as he realised their interests lined up perfectly._

_“I think there is something we can do to help each other.”_

_“Enlighten me.” Barrow said with a careless gesture, giving Waverly the permission he needed to deliver his slightly rehearsed speech._

_“As you have pointed out, you have no children and no one to pass your estate on to when you pass away.”_

_“Do you intend to supply me with a son or daughter?” Barrow interrupted in a mocking tone, Waverly ignored him and ploughed onwards._

_“You are well respected among the upper circles of society, if you wanted you could have an ear in every plot and plan being made. As you may expect, this is of some interest to British intelligence services.”_

_“Get to the point.”_

_“With your permission, we would install one of our agents as your estranged child, the product of some liaison a long time ago that only now you have decided to acknowledge. The agent would perform surveillance work to help keep this country and others safe from the machinations of those who have enough money to pursue unsavoury courses of action.” Waverly said, watching as Barrow’s face betrayed nothing. “If you are unhappy at having contributed nothing positive to this world, this would be one way to do something about it.”_

_“Do you have an agent in mind?” Barrow asked, surprising Waverly. He had expected more questions before reaching this point._

_Unbidden, an image of the happy family he had left in Scotland appeared to him. They were living normal lives now, but they could not be satisfied with just that. Perhaps if either of them had previously had normally lives, they might be content with a simple and uncomplicated existence but each of them had their demons. Unhappy childhoods, years spent in secrecy. It all added up to restlessness, a need for adrenaline and risk. Barrow coughed impatiently, startling Waverly out of his thoughts, he had been silent for a very long time._

_“I do.” He said. “I think they might fit in well, I’m just not certain they would accept.” Barrow rolled his eyes at Waverly’s vagueness._

_“So which is it? Son or daughter?”_

_“Both. And a grandchild, if you accept of course.” Barrow raised an eyebrow but looked quite intrigued at Waverly’s unexpected answer._

_“Does the agent already come so burdened, or have you assembled a group together to try to bribe me with more family members?”_

_“Not quite.” Waverly said drily. “The couple both used to be my agents, they have since retired and started a family together. I think they may enjoy the opportunity to do some light surveillance work. My concern is whether they will want to come out of retirement.” Barrow did not respond for a few minutes, and Waverly did not pester him as he suspected he wanted a couple of minutes to think over some questions. After a while, Barrow spoke up again._

_“I accept, on the condition you bring them here as soon as possible.”_

_“Do you not want more time to think about it?” Waverly managed to say, after overcoming his initial shock._

_“I’m dying, Alexander, time is not a commodity I have much left of. If you’re giving me a fake family I would like to at least get to know them.” That effectively ended the conversation, and without further ado Waverly said his goodbyes and returned to his home, with the intention of planning his return to Scotland in the coming days._

* * *

_Gaby and Illya were surprised to see him again at their door, only a month after he had spotted them at the fair. They were understandably wary, and Waverly had found himself facing a loaded gun for a second time, he realised that it might have been a good idea to forewarn them of his arrival. Gaby and Illya had thought his return meant he had lied when he told them he wouldn’t hand them in, and it took a solid ten minutes of Waverly speaking until they believed otherwise. He waved a small toy car as a gesture of his good intent._

_“I have an offer for you both.” Waverly told them, once they had relaxed enough to invite him in again. Eric was once again in his playpen, and Waverly was amused to see how much the boy had changed in just a month._

_“No. We’re not doing anything dangerous.” Gaby told him immediately. “So if you want us to fly somewhere where we will be shot at, we’re not interested.” Waverly couldn’t help but notice that Gaby’s focus on danger meant they might not outright refuse other work._

_“No, I do understand that for obvious reasons you would want to avoid that. But I do have a surveillance job opening I thought would be good for you both.” Gaby and Illya looked at each other, seeming to communicate something Waverly could not follow. Not for the first time he wondered how he had managed to ignore their relationship while they had worked for UNCLE._

_“Waverly,” Gaby began uncomfortably, “we appreciate that you want us to work for you again-” Waverly raised a hand before she could continue._

_“Perhaps you might allow me some more time to explain. You’ve made a lives for yourselves here, and I respect that. The position I want to offer you is not an ordinary surveillance job, it is an extremely comfortable change of scenery with minimal risk attached. I am offering to you both, not just because you were brilliant agents, but also as thank you gesture for your loyal and effective work for UNCLE.” He could tell that he had given them both pause._

_“We’re listening.” Illya said._

_“A British aristocrat is dying. As you are no doubt aware from your experiences with UNCLE it is often the rich that fund various plots and schemes. The man has no family members but is willing to ‘adopt’ an agent, and I’m sure you can see why we would have an interest in this business. Should you decide to accept the position, your main job would be to attend and host functions and listen for anything that would be of interest to domestic and foreign intelligence services.” He detailed the role to their still impassive expressions, and change the subject to the benefits for them._

_“In exchange for this, you get to live in a much larger home with plenty of room should you decide to further expand your little family. In addition, you would have access to some of the best facilities for your child, including but not limited to the best schools. I will also my influence to shield you from any foreign interests. Your identities are good, but with my connections I can improve on them- birth certificates, detailed life and employment histories on paper. I can see you both have taken steps to further improve on disguises.”_

_He looked them over again, Illya had acquired a beard since Waverly’s last visit and it appeared that Gaby was now working on changing the style of her hair rather than just the colour. Her fringe was growing out and she now styled her hair in curls rather than just letting it fall flat around her face. Carrying a child had already altered her body, and with a few extra changes she would likely be near unrecognisable._

_“And of course,” he added, “this arrangement would only need to last for the remainder of my employment. All information you acquire would be passed to me and I would then take action on it, once I retire I can also end your involvement, and you can continue to enjoy the benefits.” There were other advantages to his offer- wealth, prestige. But he knew that ranting on about that would not endear them to his offer._

_“Can we have some time to think about it?” Gaby asked after whispering quietly to Illya._

_“Of course.” Waverly fished out a business card from a pocket. “If you decide to accept, please call me and I can make all the arrangements.” Gaby took the card, and Waverly took that as his cue to leave and let the couple think over his proposition._

* * *

_With Waverly gone again, Illya did not know quite what to think. His first instinct was to reject the offer to continue living the reasonably pleasant lives they had carved out for themselves, but he found himself hesitating. He felt a little useless now, which was a novel feeling for him who had spent the majority of his adult life serving his country or the world in some way. Serving a small community felt like a pittance in comparison so the thought of some spy work, even something as minor as intelligence gathering, felt like a very attractive prospect._

_“What do you think about it all?” Gaby asked, and he could see in her eyes that she looked as conflicted as he felt._

_“I don’t know.” He said truthfully. “It is a lot to take in.”_

_“I feel the same. I can’t stop thinking about whether or not it might be best, not just for us but for Eric.” She said. “We’ve both had so much taken away from us, and if Waverly is right we could open up dozens of opportunities for him. Opportunities we could never had dreamt of.” There was wistfulness in her voice, and Illya could guess she was thinking about her own childhood passion for dance, a path that had been cut off from her at a young age. His parents had groomed him for a future in politics, but that too had to be abandoned once his father had been arrested. If they did as Waverly suggested, then it was possible that they could allow their child to pursue any future he wanted._

_“He said there was no risk…” She murmured thoughtfully._

_“There is always risk.” Illya pointed out. “But I do believe him when he said he would shield us from the brunt of it.”_

_“Let’s sleep on it.” Gaby said, reaching for him and letting him pull her into a tight embrace. “It’s a big decision, things may seem clearer in the morning.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue rears its head again, now with some more context. By the way, you may have noticed a bit of a screw up with the previous two chapters. Recovery VI looked like a copy of the end of Recovery V, and that was because when I was editing Recovery V grew so long that I moved half of it into a new chapter- Recovery VI. Unfortunately I forgot to delete that half from Recovery V that was moved. It has been corrected now, but sorry about that mistake.


	27. Recovery VIII

_A night of tossing and turning, both weighing the risks and benefits of a possible move back to the south, did not make things any clearer come morning. Gaby called her boss at the garage, requesting a day off to deal with some unexpected news. He had been surprised but had agreed without too much hesitation, and Illya had followed her lead. They sat in silence at the breakfast table, both stuck deep in their thoughts._

_“Your roots are showing.” Gaby said eventually, running a hand lightly through Illya’s hair. “You’ll need to dye it again soon.” He caught her hand and pressed a light kiss to her palm, causing her to feel a swell of affection for him. Whatever they decided, at least the three of them would not be separated. “Waverly said the house would be big.” She said quietly. “Big houses normally have big gardens, don’t they?” Illya nodded, eyes distant._

_“I remember our garden in Russia, before my father was arrested. I used to climb the trees.” He said nostalgically, she felt a smile twist up her lip as she imagined a boy older than Eric engaging in such behaviour._

_“If we make this decision, we can’t go back.” She said sombrely. “I just don’t know what to do.” He shrugged, equally as unsure as her._

_“Hello?” The sound of a door opening accompanied the tentative greeting. Gaby’s boss appeared from around the corner, looking relieved to see them._

_“Is something the matter?” Gaby asked, she was used to him just walking into the house on a whim._

_“I wanted to check on you both, you sounded unhappy on the phone.” His brow was furrowed in concern._

_“That’s very kind.” Illya said._

_“You said you were having a problem, is there anything I can do? Do you need money?” They both shook their heads immediately at his enquiry._

_“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” Gaby looked over at Illya, silently asking his permission to give an abridged version of their dilemma to Rudd, he nodded. “Our old boss has offered us a job, and we’re trying to decide whether we should go back.” She confessed as honestly as she could._

_“I see.” He didn’t look too troubled by the idea of his employee leaving. “I’m surprised it is taking you so long to decide, most people cannot wait to leave this town.” At their confused expression he continued. “Most people don’t come here to settle, there are few opportunities available in this town, especially for the younger crowd. My children left for the bigger cities at the first chance. If I was in your position, still young and with a small child I would leap at the chance to go somewhere, unless of course there is a reason you cannot go back.” He looked at them in concern._

_“There is a reason.” Illya admitted. “But we don’t know if it a good enough reason to stay away.”_

_“If you think it is best for Eric, my advice would be to go.” Rudd said truthfully. “Even if it means I lose my best mechanic.” Gaby choked out a laugh at that and thanked him for his advice._

_They took a few more days to think about it, both of them returned to work but the subject remained firmly on their minds. Eventually Gaby had returned home from work, the decision on her part made._

_“I think we will regret it if we don’t try it.” She told him when he arrived. “Yes, it’s a risk but we need to think about what will be best for Eric and I think this will be it.” After a moment he nodded, and with them both agreed on their course of action, Illya picked up the phone and dialled the number on the card._

* * *

_True to his word, Waverly arranged everything including their transport from the little town down to the outskirts of London. They made several stops along the way to cater to the small individual under their care who seemed distinctly disgruntled about the long journey despite their best attempts to entertain him along the way. At a safe house some distance from their final destination, Waverly met them to provide them with their new documentation. They were a little surprised to see he had kept the false names they had used in Scotland and so they remained Emma, Michael and Eric Cook, it would make things easier since they had gotten used to those names in public so would respond appropriately if someone called the false name to them._

_Along with the documents were also several slightly odd objects, the purpose of which it took them a moment to figure out. There was a rather extensive makeup kit, filled with items Gaby did not really use including but not limited to boldly coloured lipsticks. There was also a pair of thick rimmed men’s glasses, the lenses not seeming to serve any purpose as they did not affect Illya’s perfect vision when he tried them on. When Gaby looked at him with them on his face, she immediately guessed that these items were clearly intended for them to use to further alter their appearances. With Illya’s dyed beard and hair, accompanied with the glasses he looked unrecognisable from the man she had met in Rome. While they waited for their transportation, Gaby experimented with the makeup available. Normally if she used it she kept it fairly simple and plain, with the exception of the false eyelashes she favoured. Now she made an actual attempt to use more and found it did change the way she looked. She and Illya examined each other with no small amount of amusement, both feeling a little like actors in a play._

_“So this is us for the foreseeable future.” She said, trying not to laugh. “Do I look like a clown?”_

_“You look different.” He said. “Not better or worse, just different.” He eyed her slightly more critically. “Your lipstick is smudged though.” She shrugged, not taking offence to the truth._

_“I’ve not used it before, I’ll get better with practice.” She walked over to Eric, who was playing with one of his new toy car. The child looked up at her curiously, as though trying to put a name to her face. “Even Eric doesn’t recognise me.” She complained good-naturedly, Illya removed his glasses and Eric’s face lit up in recognition and he immediately lifted his arms to be picked up. He replaced the glasses and held Eric, whose hands immediately went to the unfamiliar object to try to take it off again._

_Soon enough they set off again, Eric drifting off into her arms. Illya could tell she also badly wanted to sleep as well, they had been travelling all day and they only hoped they would soon arrive at their destination. He felt her lay her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped and arm around them both._

_“I hope Waverly has thought ahead and set up something for Eric.” She said quietly, trying not to disturb the child slumbering on her chest._

_“He’s not an idiot. I’m sure the basics are at least going to be available.” They had been told not to bring much with them since nearly everything they had would not be appropriate for a couple reconciling with a rich family member. Waverly had left them a document briefing them on what their backstory would be. Illya was to be the estranged son of a Lord Barrow, the unacknowledged product of an affair. Lord Barrow’s sudden reminder of his mortality had prompted him to try to reconcile with his remaining blood relative who had since married and had a child. Barrow was still alive, and part of the condition of the offer was that they live with him until his death. Illya was not sure how he felt about this trade off, it was a little odd that they would be living with a total stranger but it made him feel a little more comfortable about ‘inheriting’ the estate and money when he eventually passed away. Taking all that from a stranger felt underhanded and a lot more like theft, at least this way they would know for certain the man had agreed to the arrangement._

* * *

_Night had fallen by the time they finally arrived at the estate, and Illya could see that Gaby was struggling to keep her eyes open. He too was feeling the exhaustion, proving that the year or so of idle living had dulled his abilities. In the past he had been able to stay awake for days on end, but now he seemed to struggle just reaching twenty four of wakefulness. Still he was alert enough to critically examine the building they would soon call home, it was far grander than he really felt comfortable with. He was so used to living with only the essentials that this whole situation wasn’t something he would have chosen for himself, luckily he didn’t have to make that decision for himself- he had Gaby and Eric to think of as well, and he wanted to make sure they were as secure and provided for as he could accomplish._

_When the car eventually stopped, he light pressed a hand onto Gaby shoulder and shook her gently to wake her up. “What is it?” She mumbled blearily._

_“We’ve arrived.” He took Eric in his own arms, doing his best to not disturb him too much and disturb his sleep. He watched as she took in the sight as well, and noticed that she looked as intimidated as he felt about the building._

_“Well it’s certainly big.” She commented, she sighed. “Better get the awkward introductions over with.” They were both startled back into awareness when the doors of the car were suddenly opened for them. Illya very nearly went into a defensive position, until he realised that the men that had come to greet them were uniformed as house staff and not security. They likely were not even armed, he allowed himself to relax a little and stepped out the car, as Gaby did the same on her side._

_“Sir.” One of the men said to him. “Would you please follow me?” It seemed innocent enough, and after Gaby moved to stand beside him he nodded cautiously and followed the man inside the building._

_It was even grander on the inside, with all the walls richly decorated with paintings and ornate tapestries. Eric seemed to take that moment to wake up and was uncharacteristically quiet as his young eyes darted about, taking in all the new and exciting sights around him. They were led through the halls until they came to a sitting room where a well-dressed man was waiting for them and puffing on a cigar._

_“Welcome.” He said, looking over each of them appraisingly. “I understand we’re going to be living together for the foreseeable future. My name is David Barrow, please make yourselves at home.”_

_David gestured towards the couch, and they took his cue to sit down. Once no longer moving, Eric struggled about in Illya’s arms, intent on being put on the ground so he could explore his new surroundings. He was a very curious baby, sometimes to slight detriment since he would occasionally start finding his way into places he shouldn’t be in. Gaby had to exile him from the kitchen once she realised that he had figured out how to turn the oven on. Illya did not feel comfortable letting the terror loose when there were so many delicate objects about, they may have all been out of reach but he was sure Eric would eventually manage to get at some of the shinier more expensive pieces if left to his own devices. After a few minutes, Eric eventually gave up and slumped back unhappily, he had long since learned that he would not escape his father’s grip so easily._

_“How was your journey?” David asked._

_“It was fine thank you, a little tiring.” Gaby replied politely when she saw that Illya’s attention was still diverted._

_“I can imagine. Alex didn’t tell me where you were travelling from but he did mention it was quite far.” He conversed easily. “I’ve had some rooms set up for you, and a nursery for the little one, if you would like to rest. It is quite late. We can save a proper conversation for tomorrow.”_

_“That would be great, thank you.” Gaby said. Illya noticed with some wry amusement that she didn’t point out that it really was the wisest course of action since Eric would begin screaming his head off in a demand for bed once the full weight of the day’s travelling hit him._

_“Henry, would you take them to their rooms?” David spoke to a man dressed as a butler._

_“Certainly sir.” Illya recognised him as the person they met at the door, and once again they followed him. Bidding goodnight to David as the left the room._

_The room they were taken to was a very spacious bedroom, and once they were left alone they took a moment to examine their surroundings. Illya wondered whether he should check for bugs, but decided that he was too tired to. There would be little of interest for people to listen in on if there were listening devices dotted about. Their cases had already been brought up and did not look as though they had been disturbed on the journey, not that they held anything incriminating._

_Aside from the entrance they came in through, there was two other doors inside the bedroom, Gaby investigated one to find an empty room clearly intended as a walk-in wardrobe and Illya checked the other one to find a nursery- already fully furnished and equipped with everything a child of Eric’s age would require. He set the child down in the room and supervised as Eric explored, picking up and examining several of his new toys with some interest. When he started rubbing his eyes again, Illya picked him up and put him in the cot, adding the small bear that Eric had been playing with inside. Eric snuggled up to the bear and promptly fell asleep, tiredness making their usual evening routine much easier than usual. He quietly shut the door behind him and headed back into the main bedroom where he found Gaby had kicked off her shoes and was sitting on the bed, testing the springiness of the mattress._

_“There are worse places to live.” She commented with a smile, she crooked a finger to beckon him closer and when he sat beside her she tiredly rested her head on his shoulder. “What did you think of him?” She asked, referencing their host._

_“Too early to tell.” He replied honestly. “He does seem to be making an effort to make us comfortable.”_

_“We’ll find out more in the morning I guess.” She looked up at, makeup slightly smudged from where she had absently rubbed at it. He put an arm around her waist and she pressed herself deeper into his side, letting out a content sigh as she did so. “We should probably get some sleep.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left guys, we’re nearly caught up with the flashbacks.


	28. Recovery IX

_The next morning, the first thing Illya was aware of was the feeling of the mattress lifting slightly as Gaby rose and left the bed, her bare feet quietly making a padding noise on the floor as she crossed to the other side of the room and headed into the nursery. With a long yawn, Illya decided to get up as well and rummaged through his case for some fresh clothes as he heard Gaby fuss over their son. Once dressed he walked into the adjoining room, better able to see the furnishings in the morning light than he had the previous night._

_“Can you see if you can find any clothes for Eric?” Gaby asked. “All the ones I’ve brought need to be washed.” He searched through a few doors, finding a host of useful things like clean diapers until he eventually found a chest of drawers full of clothes for various ages. Picking out some that looked the right side, he handed them to Gaby so she could dress Eric._

_Once they were all ready, they headed out of the room and down the stairs, wondering where they should go to get something to eat for breakfast. They didn’t have too long to worry about it since they were soon met by the butler who it appeared had gone up to find them._

_“Ah there you are.” He said. “Lord Barrow wished to know if you would like to eat breakfast together.”_

_“That sounds nice.” Gaby said cautiously, they were not sure how much the staff had been told about the operation to install them as the heirs to the estate so were unsure about how they should behave around them. Illya felt that the general cautiousness they had treated everyone with could reasonably also be the behaviour of a family trying to connect with a previously unknown relative, and he had told Gaby as such the previous night._

_They were taken to a small dining room, probably one of the more modest places they had seen on the estate so far. Not quite the long room with the huge table Illya had always imagined when he thought of rich person’s dining room. The table itself was modestly sized and circular rather than a long thin rectangle. A high seat had already been set up and in front of it was a small arrangement of different baby foods._

_“Good morning.” David greeted, folding away his paper. “I trust you slept well?”_

_“Yes thank you.” Illya said as he put Eric into the highchair and took his own seat, quickly choosing through the bottles until he found something he thought the child might like. He unscrewed the lid and lid and began to feed Eric._

_“The nursery was very nice.” Gaby commented. “Thank you for setting all that up.”_

_“It was my pleasure, I wanted to cater to all my guests.” Someone soon arrived with a large pot of coffee and a tray of different food items. “Alex told me very little about you two, he said you were retired from the spy business.”_

_“That is correct in a way,” she confirmed, “we’ve not been in that line of work for over a year now.”_

_“What made you change your mind?” He asked curiously._

_“The work is meant to be low risk and high reward.” Gaby said bluntly, Illya winced at her utter lack of subtlety but David seemed more pleased than insulted by her honesty. “We thought this would be best for Eric.”_

_“That is understandable. Were you MI5 or MI6?” The implicit assumption that they were both British startled them, Gaby was pleased that she had put enough work into changing her voice that she managed to convince a member of the aristocracy but they both shared a brief look as they realised Waverly had not revealed their actual nationalities to his friend._

_“We worked for Waverly.” Illya said simply, causing David to raise an eyebrow in response._

_“A diplomatic answer. I won’t take offence at the lack of trust, I might also be a little jumpy if I had been in the same line of work. We are still strangers, although I do hope that will change.”_

_“Your house is nice.” Gaby said after searching for a change of subject. “Is it very old?” It reminded her very faintly of the house from her earliest memories, from before her mother died and her father abandoned her._

_“It has been in my family for a very long time.” He explained. “In a way I’m quite glad Alex took an interest in who would inherit, I don’t know what would have happened to this place otherwise.” Without Gaby having to ask he immediately launched into a passionate lecture on the building’s history, both listening intently and asking the occasional question. It was fascinating to hear, and nice to see someone so passionate about their own home_

* * *

_Over the next few weeks they spent a lot of time with David as he instructed them on the ins and outs of how they would have to behave now that they were part of his family. He seemed a pleasant enough man, easy to like and with a very British sardonic side that Gaby seemed to appreciate as it went very well with her own deprecating sense of humour. Illya and David also got on very well, with the latter seeming to appreciate that his new son was the quiet and thoughtful type. They played chess on some evenings, and David never seemed to get annoyed that Illya would handily beat him at each game._

_It was no secret who rapidly became David’s favourite person in the group though, and neither Gaby nor Illya begrudged him for it. Once enough trust had been established, they even felt comfortable leaving Eric behind with David while they went out for an evening. They both adored Eric, but those nights they could spend at a restaurant or a bar were a great pleasure for them, giving them the chance to speak openly and frankly to each other without having a little person demanding their attention at every waking moment._

_One such evening, Gaby had watched suspiciously as David winked at Illya when the two of them left for the night, she had badgered Illya about it for the entire journey to the restaurant but he insisted that she had imagined the whole thing. She had reluctantly dropped the subject to enjoy the meal and halfway through desert he pushed a small box towards her._

_“I got you a present.” He said offhandedly._

_“I knew there was something!” She replied victoriously and took the box, excited to see what was in it. Inside was a ring, simple and elegant with a nicely cut diamond as its main decoration. “It’s very nice.” She said gratefully. “Thank you. But I already have a ring?” The gold band he had picked up in the USA was still on her finger._

_“We bought that when we were on the run. We were in a hurry and I picked something to help with our cover. I wanted to get you something better once we settled down, but we didn’t have the money when we were in Scotland.”_

_“Oh Illya.” She could feel herself tear up, and was grateful that they were reasonably secluded so no one could witness her slip up. “You didn’t have to.”_

_“I know but I wanted to.” He said honestly. She had enthusiastically shown her appreciation later that evening, and a few days later conspired with David in order to replace Illya’s own quickly bought gold ring with a similarly plain but more carefully picked out platinum band._

_They grew very close to David as more and more time passed, but his illness was never too far out of mind. He seemed like a very fit man, but his propensity for cigars and cigarettes appeared to be his downfall and many pleasant evenings had been marred by one of his coughing fits. It was a large and uncomfortable elephant in the room every time the subject of the future was brought up, and nobody knew when his illness would finally finish him off. Eventually his condition did worsen, they both felt unexpectedly pained by the thought that he would die so soon after knowing them. He spent a brief stint in hospital, during which they made a concerted attempt to visit him daily and bring Eric to cheer him up wherever possible. He was normally quite pleased to see them, but very tired and weak. Eric was sometimes a little too rambunctious to bring for a visit. David did recover much to everyone’s surprise, his determination to live as long as he possibly could seeming to lend him the necessary energy to get back on his feet._

_They had both suggested that David take it easy from now on, a suggestion he had balked at immediately. He had no desire to spend the rest of his days in bed waiting for death to take hold, he wanted to live each moment that he had left. There was also the uncomfortable matter of establishing Illya and Gaby within the social circles he frequented, it was something that had been left quite late as they all established that they were content to take on the roles Waverly had given them. It could not be left forever, and David of all of them seemed to be the most aware of that. He had already done some work on that front, speaking to some of his friends about his newly discovered son, some of those friends had even been by the house to visit him while he was ill and he had taken the opportunity to introduce them to the appropriately sombre Gaby and Illya. These few introductions would not be enough, David knew, he needed to host a party for them to fully ingratiate themselves into the upper class circles._

_David requested Gaby’s help with the organisation, partly because he did not feel up to it by himself and also in part so she could learn about the appropriate arrangements to make. She more than Illya would be expected to run these kind of events. It had been a wise move to make, she knew very little about the many social subtleties that were necessary. David only hoped that the charm she could summon when necessary would be enough to overcome any suspicions she raised through slightly more questionable choices after he left this world._

_The event was mostly a success, David himself kept to the background when it was running, allowing the two younger people to mingle about the crowd and make their own introductions. He rested much easier that night after he realised that they had enough training to make friends at any level, he had managed to fulfil his promise to Waverly. Much to Gaby and Illya’s horror, his health deteriorated further once the party was out of the way and led to another period of hospitalisation. This one did not end anywhere near as well as the first and his sudden absence left a void in their life that he had filled for such a short amount of time. For Gaby the feeling was very similar to losing her father again, both men had been in her life for far too brief a time only to be snatched away as she became use to their presence._

_Once the funeral was over and any final tears had been shed, Waverly made his approach and delicately asked if they were ready to work. They pushed aside their grief and agreed, ready to get on with the job they had decided to take on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left to tidy all the loose ends up, will prob post that on Sunday and then this story is complete!!


	29. Recovery X

“And that’s just about everything.” Gaby finished the story. “The rest you can guess- we started working here, and I think we’ve been doing pretty well.”

“Extremely.” Waverly reassured her.

With everything out in the open, Napoleon felt a little better about being deceived, but not much. “I understand why you did what you did.” He said slowly. “But I’m still struggling to come to terms with it.” Gaby bit her lip and looked away, clearly disappointed and a little upset about how he felt.

“We understand how you feel.” Illya said when he noticed that Gaby was having some difficulty speaking. “Alex, if you don’t need us anymore we might head home.” Waverly nodded in assent and Illya turned his attention back to Napoleon. “You know where we live.” He said a little drily. “If you want to talk or see us, you’re welcome to stop by. Gaby?” Brushing at her dress, she rose and moved over to her husband, casting one last sad look at Napoleon before the two of them walked out of the office.

Napoleon breathed out a loud breath as he and Waverly were left alone, and one hand went to his forehead to massage his temple.

“I’m sorry Alex, but I’m going to need some more time to think before I can accept the job.” He managed to say.

“That’s fine. You’ve had quite a serious shock. Maybe you should go back to your hotel and sleep on it?” Waverly suggested gently.

“How did you react when you found out?” Napoleon asked, raising his head from the hand he had used to support it, Waverly looked thoughtful as he answered.

“I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see Illya when I went to Scotland to visit my friend, he wasn’t as disguised as he is now so he was still fairly easy to recognise. I thought I had gone mad.” He shook his head slightly as though to dispel the idea. “And then I saw Gaby next to him and I realised that they had survived somehow. When I went to their house and I heard the baby, Eric, crying. I knew immediately why they had done what they did. Parents will do extreme things to protect a child, I can’t say I would have acted any different if I imagine myself in their shoes.”

Napoleon nodded, it was good to hear someone else’s opinion on the same emotional blow. He was suddenly grateful that he was not the only one who had been duped by the couple intent on disappearing.

“Did you ever think I was in on it?” He asked curiously.

“For a short while, yes.” Waverly admitted. “After all, you were the one who told me what happened.” Napoleon remembered it well, he had been an utter mess that day. With hindsight he was amazed that he had managed to give Waverly a coherent explanation. “But when I thought it over, I realised you were not that good of an actor.” Napoleon was nearly offended by the sudden joke at his expense, but he sobered as he realised it was very true. “Your reaction was too genuine to be an act.” Waverly added.

“I wish they had told me what they were planning.” Napoleon said mournfully. “If they told me the reason I would have helped them.”

“I’m sure they knew that.” Waverly said kindly. “But if your reaction had not been so convincing I might have become suspicious. I would have had a duty to report it.”

“You know now, why didn’t you report it when you found out?”

“Circumstances change.” Waverly said with a slight shrug. “If I knew they had tried to pull something as blatant as faking their own deaths under my nose I might have become angry and done something stupid. Having all that time to grieve and think put it into perspective for me. At the time I might have sacrificed them to save UNCLE, knowing there was still plenty of good that could be done with such international cooperation. With what I know now I realise that would have been a mistake. I’m running an organisation that is very effective, and I’m grateful that I don’t have to bear the guilt of ruining two people’s lives just because they wanted to stay together.”

“I want to forgive them.” Napoleon confessed. “But it’s difficult.”

“I don’t think they’re expecting you to, not so soon after everything today.”

“Gaby seemed to expect it.” Napoleon noted with some acid. “From the way she was acting it appeared she thought I would be overjoyed when I found out.” Waverly shifted awkwardly at that.

“She is not herself at the moment.” He explained carefully. “They had a bit of a surprise after the party you crashed, and Gaby is feeling a little emotional.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“It’s not my place to say.” Waverly said and switched topic before Napoleon could press him further on the subject. “I think you should take some time, maybe a few days, to think everything through. When you’re ready, go and speak to them.” Napoleon agreed that taking a few days would be the best course of action, his mind was full of conflicting thoughts and he couldn’t allow himself to make a rash decision while emotions were running high.

* * *

Waverly’s advice was sound and he found himself in a much better position after taking a quick trip to Paris to clear his mind. Walking through those streets in the evening, with the cool night air brushing across his face helped him to put things into perspective. Yes, Gaby and Illya had lied to him and put him through emotional hell. But, they _were_ alive. Alive and well from what he could see, Illya slightly less so after his initial violent reaction. At the end of the day, it was an outcome he had never dreamt of but one that he had to admit he was pleased with once the initial anger wore off.

Their friendship would never be the same as it had been, as strange as it was to think, they now had a child and that would change things. There would be no more all-night drinking sessions or sudden trips out, but perhaps there would be some new things they could do together. He was destined for a life of bachelorhood and thus was unlikely to ever have children of his own, not that the thought of parenthood was in any way tempting. He could imagine himself as an eccentric uncle figure, and he had to admit he was more than a little curious to see what sort of child his two friends had created.

Strolling past the Parisian designer shops, he nearly entertained the idea of picking up a dress for Gaby. He pushed down the impulse, the idea had initially been received with some enthusiasm which had dissipated quickly. He was not yet ready to make such a gesture, not until he felt more secure with his place in their friendship. While a dress may have been too much to buy when everything was still shaky between them, he remember what Waverly had said about how she was currently feeling and felt a twinge of guilt that he had probably deflated her mood, and he didn’t resist buying a red silk scarf thinking that it might cheer her up.

Napoleon returned to London and stopped by his hotel again to drop off his cases, he hadn’t bothered checking out for his brief sojourn across the Channel and it occurred to him that if he made the decision to stay in London and work for Waverly he would need to find more permanent housing. He wondered if his old flat was still available.

He waited until evening and took a cab to the Barrow estate, Napoleon was surprised at how apprehensive he was. They had not parted on the best of terms at their last meeting and he was worried that he may have soured the atmosphere between them. The gate of the estate opened to permit the taxi and Napoleon exited by the entrance to the house. He was greeted by a butler and led into an empty sitting room, the butler left after informing him they would be down soon and Napoleon busied himself by looking around. He couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face when he spotted a chessboard on a table nearby with only one chair set. Another hint as to the identity of the buildings occupants was a large playpen which appeared to have been modified by hand in order to further secure the door to prevent escape.

“Napoleon.” Gaby greeted cordially, she held a small squirming blonde person in her arms who suddenly ceased movement to stare at Napoleon. The little boy looked startlingly like Illya.

“Gaby.” He returned, looking back into the blue eyes that examined him unflinchingly. “I gather this is Eric?”

“Yes.” She walked over to the playpen and placed the child in it, securing locking the door once she had closed it in such a way to avoid trapping any small fingers.

“Interesting piece of equipment you have there.” He commented.

“He’s managed to escape three other types of playpen.” She explained. “And every time he does he usually breaks something. Illya took matters into his own hands and modified this one, it seems to have worked so far.”

“Where is Illya?” The tall Russian was conspicuous by his absence.

“He’ll be down in a minute, he was just finishing off a report for Waverly when we were told you had arrived.” She narrowed her eyes and looked as fearsome as he remembered. “You’re not going to attack him again, are you?”

“No. I-” he swallowed uncomfortably, “I could have reacted better.” He said eventually, she snorted.

“That’s an understatement.” She said derisively.

“I picked up something for you in Paris.” He said suddenly, and handed over the small box he had brought with him. “To apologise for the other day.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise, if anyone should be sorry it is us.” She accepted the package and opened it, her eyes lighting up when she saw the fabric, but the expression could not compare to the one that appeared when she saw her ring nestled among the silk. It immediately returned to her finger, and she smiled over at him warmly.

The sound of the door opening distracted them and Illya appeared, the intimidating aura he normally cast was hindered by the stuffed elephant toy he carried which he immediately dropped into the caged off area much to its inhabitant’s joy. Illya looked better than when Napoleon had last seen him, bearing in mind the last time he had made a decent effort at hurting him, he still can’t but feel a bit of shame about it.

“Are you feeling better today?” Napoleon asked awkwardly, Illya shrugged nonchalantly.

“I recover quickly. The Russian said simply. “And I have had much worse.” The statement made Napoleon wince, he had heard a read of a few ‘motivational’ beatings in Illya’s file, his handler had a lot to answer for and Illya’s desire to disappear made all the more sense for it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” Illya said with a headshake. “We move on now, if we can.”

“I would like that.” Napoleon said quietly. “Maybe we could all go out to dinner together? Bury the hatchet.”

“That would be wonderful.” Gaby said brightly. “Just as long as there is no seafood involved.” Napoleon blinked in surprise.

“You like seafood!” He said accusingly.

“Not at the moment she doesn’t.” Illya said. “Or anything that even remotely resembles fish.” He sounded oddly amused about Gaby’s sudden aversion to certain kinds of food, Napoleon wondered if it had anything to do with what Waverly had told him.

“Is something the matter, Gaby?” He asked, brow furrowing slightly. “I know it’s been a few years, but you do seem to be acting a little strange. Are you ill?”

“Not quite, Illya made me pregnant again.” She shot an accusing look over at her husband. “It seems fresh starts are in the air at the moment.” Illya looked like he was about to protest the clear placing of the blame, but at the last moment thought better of it. Napoleon felt a bubble of laughter rise in his chest at the antics, and thought that perhaps reconciliation would be easier than he had predicted.

With the awkward tension finally destroyed, chairs were pushed together so the three could talk properly. This time not about big revelations or exploding houses, but about the regular everyday changes that had come about. Anything from the past few years was wisely not said as it was clear to all involved that bringing up such stories was only a recipe for more pain on both sides. He no more wanted to hear about their time in hiding than they wanted to hear about his misery and inability to move past their apparent deaths. The more they talked the more Napoleon realised everything was going to be okay. There was still a lot of work that needed to be done to mend their friendship but it seemed salvageable. Things had happened, things that could not be taken back. But this result: the three of them sitting and laughing together, was far preferable than the alternative.

* * *

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s the story finished finally! It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, but I hope you guys have enjoyed it. There’s been some ups and downs, but we got there in the end. Thank you to everyone who has read and supported the story! 
> 
> If you haven’t already read them, I have some other ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’ fics on my profile: a completed multi-chapter titled ‘Six Months’ which is an AU take on the film where Gaby and Illya previously knew each other, a currently incomplete multi-chapter titled ‘Deception’ which is also an AU of the film where the two of them are married, and a drabble series. I will probably get back to the incomplete works once my exams are over.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) To avoid giving spoilers I won’t be answering questions about the actual content of the story unless it is a clarification. 2) Chapter lengths vary massively from 1500 to 3000 words. 3) I have not used archive warnings to avoid spoiling the plot. Some uncomfortable subjects are dealt with, but non-explicitly and complying with the T rating. 4) Update schedule is Tuesdays and Fridays. I am back at uni so editing is going to take longer and there may be delays. 5) I hope everyone enjoys it, it was very fun to write and I hope it is as fun to read.


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